


The Templar and the Exorcist

by CakeBacon



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeBacon/pseuds/CakeBacon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane Trevelyan was an accomplished exorcist with the Ostwick Circle before the Conclave. Now she has to contend with Fade rifts, ancient evils, and the distractions of a certain ex-templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shane Trevelyan, Exorcist

The Herald looked completely normal.

Cullen wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting. This woman was the sole survivor of the Conclave. She had been chained, thrown in a dungeon, and accused of murdering The Most Holy. Yet she still graciously agreed to aid their cause. She had singlehandedly closed four rifts within minutes of waking up in said dungeon, she had slain a massive demon, and by all accounts, she was a powerful mage. _Scars maybe? Yes_ , he decided, s _he should be covered in scars. And she should have an eye patch._

Yet here she was, walking into the war room at Cassandra’s side, by all appearances a woman like any other. She did have one scar, a single white sliver that parted her left eyebrow.  She wore her brown hair in a neat bun and dressed plainly. He noted that she held her hands behind her back, and her left hand, the one with the glowing green mark, was balled in a tight fist.

The Herald had already met Leliana, but Cassandra introduced Cullen and Josephine to her.

“Those are some impressive titles,” she said with a degree of levity Cullen found inappropriate. “I am Lady Shane Trevelyan, Second Exorcist of Ostwick Circle.”

The room grew still and quiet. _An exorcist?_ In Cullen’s experience, exorcism was a specialization that mages rarely undertook. Reaching into the Fade to pull possessed individuals from the clutches of demons was a risky endeavor that put the exorcist in significant danger of getting possessed herself.

If his companions’ wide eyes were any indication, this was the first any of them had heard of her occupation as well.

“Actually, I suppose I’m First Exorcist now. Since the Conclave…” the rest of the Herald’s words faded before being spoken, and she cast her gaze toward the table between them.

“Well, you are the Herald of Andraste now,” said Josephine, getting back to business. “That is what the people of Haven have taken to calling you.”

The Herald’s eyes snapped back up.

“I was your _prisoner_ ,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I fought some demons, I was unconscious for three days, and now I wake to find that I speak for Andraste herself?”

Josephine donned a devilish grin.

“Public opinion can be a fickle ally,” Josephine said. “I suggest you push the advantage.”

“To do what exactly?” The Herald’s voice was hollow, and she narrowed her eyes. “I thought my job was to go out and close rifts, seeing as I’m the only person alive who can.” Cullen could almost feel the suspicion radiating from her.

“Of course you will close rifts,” said Leliana, “but while you’re out there, you will be in a unique position to recruit agents to our cause. There is a Chantry Mother and a horsemaster in the Hinterlands we would like you to seek out.”

“Oh yes, I can see now how terribly convenient that will be. I am sure that plugging holes with demons pouring out of them won’t be nearly enough to keep me busy. Is there anything else you would like me to do while I’m out? Shall I restock your supply of mysterious cowls, puffy sleeves, and…” she gave Cullen an appraising glance, “hair wax?”

“We could also use some quarries,” Cullen said. He felt an unexpected pride at having elicited glares from every woman in the room.

 

* * *

  

“Am I supposed to bloody _walk_ to the Hinterlands?”

Cullen was on his way from the chantry to the practice fields when he found the Herald accosting Quartermaster Threnn. The quartermaster looked like she was internally debating the theological implications of punching a holy emissary in the jaw. Cullen quickened his pace.

“That,” Cullen interjected, “is why you must convince the horsemaster to join us, Herald.”

Threnn grumbled something vulgar and stomped away. The Herald withdrew her wrath from the quartermaster and turned to focus it on Cullen instead. Her nostrils flared, and Cullen could see the muscles in her jaw working.

“ _Harold_ ,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “is a man’s name.”

Cullen felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Ah. Yes,” he said, letting the smile bloom on his face and reaching past her to pick up a list of requisitions from Threnn’s table, “and _Herald_ is a title of honor befitting your place in the Inquisition.” He perused the requisition list. _What do we need so many deep mushrooms for?_

She scoffed.

“My place. My place is closing rifts and throttling the things that fall out.” She lowered her voice. “I can do _those_ things.”

Something in Cullen relaxed with the warmth of understanding. He put the list back down on the table, stepping closer to her as he did so.

“But you don’t think you can accomplish all we’re asking of you?” he questioned gently.

“Do you?” She fixed him with her piercing violet eyes. How had he not noticed them earlier? “You have only just met me. You have no idea what my talents are, and…” She lowered her voice and took a step closer to him, constricting what little distance was left before biting off her next words. “And I can tell you that communing with holy entities is not one of them.”

Their conversation was hushed, but Cullen still found himself glancing about to see if anyone had overheard her admission.

“Come with me,” he said. He lightly touched the small of her back then dropped his hand immediately. She seemed not to notice.

He led her out through the gates and down past the practice field. It was late in the day, and there weren’t many people in the area. They walked in silence for a time. It was not uncomfortable, but he had a purpose beyond a companionable stroll.

“Do you not believe you’re Andraste’s chosen?” he asked her.

She sighed. “I believe the Maker preserved me for a reason,” she said, looking down into the glowing green mark on her left palm, “but…”

“But?”

“I’m not convinced that makes me some sort of holy figure.” He words came out curtly and quickly. “Josephine says the Chantry finds my new moniker blasphemous, and I’m inclined to agree.”

They walked on over a rise in the land, their boots crunching on the thin layer of snow.

“Does the support of the Chantry mean a great deal to you?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged.

“The support of the Maker means a great deal to me. I know the Chantry is a construct of men, but I admit I’m having a hard time compartmentalizing. The Circle taught me the instructive benefits of skepticism, but my family was devout. On the chance that the Maker does hold the Chantry dear, I would rest easier if the clerics of Thedas weren’t cursing me as a heretic.”

They had turned onto a path that saw little use. Navigating the deeper snow and hidden ice served as a welcome excuse for a moment of reflection. She had spoken his own fears aloud, and his mind needed a minute to process the experience.

“I’m not sure if you know this, but I was a templar,” he offered.

The Herald’s eyes went wide, and Cullen grew suddenly aware of how isolated and alone they were.

“But you have nothing to fear from me,” he added hastily.

A short, muted laugh swirled in the cold air in front of her mouth. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You just seemed…taken aback.”

“I was. I did not know you were a templar. But it’s a pleasant surprise.”

 _Pleasant?_ “How so?”

“That the man leading the army that will end the war between mages and templars was a templar himself lends the whole thing some credibility.”

“Yes,” he coughed, “right.”

“My brothers were templars,” she said.

Cullen’s stomach clenched in wary preparation. “Were?”

“The Conclave,” she stated simply. Cullen didn’t need further explanation, but he sought it anyway.

“You went with them?”

“No, I was there with close friends, a group of mages and templars from Ostwick Circle. But I saw my brothers there. I knew they would want to be involved in negotiating peace, and that is one of the reasons I attended. I was hoping to reconnect with them.”

The Herald held her hands behind her back. The knuckles of her left hand were white, and Cullen could imagine her fingernails digging into the palm bearing the indelible mark. Before this conversation, he had not applied the empathy to appreciate how deeply the Conclave must have altered every aspect of the Herald’s life, not just the skin of one hand. 

“You lost touch with your family?” This was a circumstance Cullen could certainly empathize with, having not seen any of his relatives for nearly fifteen years and only maintaining the barest correspondence.

“I didn’t want to make things harder on them. After the Circles fell, I became an apostate.”

“And they were devout templars,” Cullen concluded through gritted teeth. It was starting to feel like he uncovered more of the Order’s failings every day.

“Don’t misunderstand,” she said. “They would never have done anything to hurt me. I’m sure of it. But harboring one of the fugitives they were expected to hunt? I didn’t want to place that burden on them. So I just stayed away and continued to do what I do best. Follow rumors, seek demons, perform exorcisms. I’m hoping the Inquisition will come to realize these are my strengths and relegate charming horsemasters to someone else.”

“Of all the tasks we have put to you, hunting demons bothers you the least?”

“Of course. It’s what I was trained for.”

“Well, even though you weren’t trained to charm horsemasters you may still have the talent for it.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he pretended not to notice.

It was starting to get dark. The sunset had been imperceptible through the grey haze and green whorls in the sky.

“We should turn back to the gates, Herald.”

She looked sideways at him.

“Can you call me something else? People used to just call me Exorcist. Or Shane.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate. Your title could be important for the Inquisition. I should be encouraging its use.”

“Of course.”

On the short walk back, Cullen kept feeling like he should say something. But the Herald remained silent and continued forward, so he did the same.

At the gates, he gave her a quick nod.

“Good night, Herald.”

“Good night, Commander.”


	2. Sparring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm new to AO3, so you're getting several chapters at once. I hope you enjoy Shane's story!

Shane listened to Cassandra with rapt but impatient attention. She had asked about the process for becoming a Seeker. Cassandra was deep into a lengthy speech about honor and discipline, but Shane’s interests laid elsewhere.

“How is it that you are immune to possession?” Shane interrupted. She had longed to know the answer to this particular question since she first learned of Seekers, but had never chanced to meet one before Cassandra. She had been aching to bring it up for weeks, but there had always been something more pressing to demand their attention. Even on the road between Haven and the Hinterlands they had been able to spare little time for any chatter that did not directly involve keeping their party alive.

Cassandra pressed her lips into a thin line and huffed before answering.

“I can’t say. Not because it’s forbidden, but because I do not know. I went on a solitary spiritual journey, the Vigil, and when it was over…I felt completely at peace.”

Shane stared into the other woman’s face blankly. She wasn’t sure how to respond to Cassandra’s disappointingly unhelpful but obviously personal reflections.

“That sounds…er, refreshing?”

“Yes, it was,” Cassandra affirmed in her usual monotone. Shane decided her inflection was curt by nature rather than malice. “I am flattered by your interest, Herald. I hope this congeniality will continue.”

Shane took her leave, and Cassandra resumed her attacks on a beleaguered training dummy.

Freeing victims of possession was Shane’s purpose in life, or it had been before the Conclave. She absentmindedly wrung her hands behind her back as she walked between the tents lining the practice field. The mark she had acquired that fateful night thrummed between her hands. If she could become immune to possession like a Seeker, she would have much less to fear from performing exorcisms. If anyone could become immune, exorcists might not need to exist at all. She would have to pester Cassandra for more information.

“Your shield is supposed to be _between_ you and your opponent!”

The exasperated shout drew Shane’s attention to the practice field where Commander Cullen was personally drilling a new batch of recruits. Surely he could have delegated the training of raw recruits to someone else?

The fledgling warriors swung their swords awkwardly at one another. Shane didn’t know much about swordsmanship, but she knew a great deal about spotting an opening on armored targets. She would have been able to kill any one of these people easily. She shivered. They looked young and spindly, farmer’s sons and daughters, not soldiers.

As she walked up behind the commander, Shane saw him scrub a hand over his face and sigh.

“Shields higher! Protect your necks!” he shouted then grumbled, “Maker preserve us.”

Shane chuckled, and the commander looked over his shoulder.

“Herald,” he greeted her with a nod. “I was hoping you would stop by.”

“Oh?” Shane responded casually despite the unexpected tightness gripping her chest.

“I thought I might ask you to help me with the recruits. None of them have ever fought a mage. Most of them have never even seen one.”

Shane let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He wanted her to help with combat training. Of course. What had she been expecting?

“I am at your disposal, Commander.”

He shouted for the recruits to stop what they were doing and had them gather around.

“You will all need to become familiar with fighting mages before you are deployed. To that end, the Herald has kindly offered to assist with today’s exercises.”

The recruits gaped at her, and a few seemed to grow suddenly paler.

“Today, I would like you all to become comfortable blocking a basic mage attack with your shields.” The commander turned to Shane and gestured toward the field. “If you would, Herald?”

Shane followed him to the middle of the training area, and the gathered soldiers circled around. The commander crouched into a defensive stance and lifted his shield, hiding the majority of his body and face from view.

“Hold on a moment,” he said, straightening back up, “You don’t have your staff.”

“I don’t need it. It will be safer this way,” said Shane.

The commander shrugged and dropped back into his stance.

“All right. Shoot a fireball at me.”

Shane blinked.

“You want me to set you on fire?”

“Just launch a standard fire projectile, nothing major,” he said.

Shane was wary.

“I’ve fought plenty of mages,” he assured her. “I will block it.”

 _Was that a smirk on his face?_ Shane pressed her lips together. She would start small. She cast a diminutive fire spell, throwing it underhand like a ball to fizzle against the center of the commander’s shield.

A few of the nearest recruits gasped, but the commander smirked some more and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get your staff?” he goaded.  

“This is just practice,” Shane said.

“Come on,” his smile widened. “Give me a real one.”

Shane held her right arm out straight in front of her with her palm facing the commander. She held still, not building any momentum, and released a blast of flames.

The globe of fire slammed against his shield. The commander slid back, his boots dragging through gravel, flames licking around the edges of his shield, before being knocked backward entirely.

Shane’s instinct was to rush forward and help him up, but she held her ground. The surrounding recruits seemed frozen in place. Commander Cullen gaped at her from the ground, and she met his gaze with stoicism.

As the commander regained his feet, the recruits shuffled in place with muted clanks from their patchwork armor.

“Well,” said Commander Cullen, “Maybe aim for something in between.” He then commanded his men to line up, an order which they complied to with great reluctance.

Shane ignored the commander’s recommendation on the scale of her spells and began lobbing tiny fire balls at the clearly terrified men and women lining up before her. Once the first round was complete and no one had been forced to roll in the snow, they met the activity with more enthusiasm. Shane offered the occasional tip or supportive comment, and hoped that by the end of the lesson she had instilled more confidence than fear.

As the recruits put their practice swords back onto the rack and began to clomp off the field, Commander Cullen came up beside her.

“You didn’t have to knock me on my ass.” There was no real heat to the words. He gave her a lopsided little smile, and Shane noted how it tugged at the scar on his lip.

She gave him and exaggerated shrug. “I wasn’t trying to.”

The commander raised an eyebrow at her.

“How about a real sparring match?” he asked.

“Keep your shield up,” she baited, “Lest I singe your pretty hair.”

“Why does everyone fixate on my hair?” he grumbled, reaching for his shield and a practice sword. He strode onto the field, and Shane followed. She made no move to collect a staff, and he didn’t question it this time. He crouched down and resumed his insufferable smirk. “Ladies first.”

Shane rolled her eyes then swept her arms in front of herself, slamming the commander’s flank with a wave of force magic, bypassing his shield and causing him to stumble sideways. Fire was useful as an instruction tool, but it had never really been her style.

Commander Cullen recovered quickly, regaining his footing and dashing toward her with his shield up. Shane just barely dove out of the way. How could a man move so quickly when weighed down by all of that armor and weaponry? He wasn’t in full plate, but his agility still took her by surprise.

He took advantage of her disorientation and swung around, arching his blunted sword toward her side. She knocked his sword off course with a hasty blast of force magic then darted away. She wasted no time, readying her next spell as she put a few strides between them. As she turned and took aim, she felt a wave of vertigo crash over her. The dizziness distracted her enough to leave her vulnerable, and instead of releasing her next magical barrage, she was forced to throw up a barrier as Commander Cullen charged. She jumped to the side, but still caught a glancing blow from his shield.

He smiled triumphantly. Shane flexed her hands. She had fought plenty of templars before. Of late, most of those templars were trying to cause her actual harm. But this was different. She had never felt the effects of her mana being forcibly drained so acutely. Perhaps the commander was right to be so cocky. She snorted. _Unlikely._

Commander Cullen charged again. Shane stood perfectly still until he was just outside striking distance then forced a wave of energy to radiate outward from her body. Commander Cullen slid back on the gravel again, but this time he hunkered lower and did not fall.

He jabbed his sword forward, aiming right at her heart. Shane dropped to the ground and swept her leg into the backs of his knees. He shouted out in surprise as his knees gave way. Shane neglected to get clear fast enough, and her leg got tangled with his as he fell to his knees. She ended up on her rear end. Her move had been ill-advised, as the commander was still upright and quite able to swing his sword down at her shoulder.

She rolled inside his swing, bringing herself closer to him, and fired off a puff of force magic. It caught the inside of his shield like a sail, blowing his cover wide open. She was hit with another surge of vertigo. She narrowed her eyes and slammed a blast of force energy right into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and doubled over, falling toward her.

Shane was on her back. Commander Cullen had fallen onto his hands. His right hand was on one side of Shane’s body, still clutching his sword. His shield-baring arm was on Shane’s other side. He hovered just inches from her body. She could see the sweat on his brow and feel his breath on her face. Both of them were breathing heavily from their efforts. She looked up into his eyes and he looked down into hers.

Their sparring match had attracted a crowd, and Shane heard a couple awkward coughs and a low whistle. The commander hastily scrambled backward and onto his feet. Shane did the same.

They appraised each other for a moment then dove forward at the same time. He brought up his sword, she pivoted around the edge of his shield. They stood nearly chest-to-chest, his sword at her neck.

“It seems I have you,” he said in a low rumble.

“Don’t be so sure.” Shane glanced down, directing the commander’s gaze to the dagger she was holding a scant inch from his thigh, just over a major artery. He blinked.

“A draw then,” he conceded.

Cheers and guffaws erupted around them as they walked off the field. Blackwall caught her gaze and gave her a knowing glance before heading off toward the smithy. _Maker’s breath._

The crowd thinned, and everyone got back to their business. Shane stuck her dagger into its sheath at the small of her back, and Commander Cullen put his weaponry onto the rack.

“I haven’t been drained of mana so thoroughly since I was a reckless young girl,” Shane said, detaching her waterskin from her belt. “I underestimated you.”

He flashed her that wry half-smile. “I could say the same,” he said. “I thought I had you empty when you winded me with that ethereal punch to the gut. You’re remarkably resistant to templar abilities.”

“I’ve lived with templars my whole life. I’ve had a lot of practice,” Shane said with a laugh.

Cullen chuckled. He dragged a towel over his brow then around the back of his neck. Shane realized she was staring and took a long pull from her waterskin.

“You’re quite capable when unarmed,” he continued, “and your hand-to-hand skills are a welcome surprise. I can rest easier sending you out into danger now.”

_He worries about me?_

He tossed his towel down on the table. His demeanor became troubled, and he looked at her very seriously.

“About before,” he said, “When I was on top of… I mean…when we were…um…on the ground, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Shane grinned. She was delighted to find the stoic commander stumbling over his words. She was even more pleased that she seemed to be the cause.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve always had a thing for templars. You’re not one of the celibate ones, are you?”

Commander Cullen blanched, and Shane immediately realized she had made a huge mistake.

“Maker, sorry,” she said. “In the Ostwick Circle, jokes like that were common. I can see how such flippancy in my current situation is entirely inappropriate. Forget I said anything.”

He was still staring at her.

“Er. I’ll be going, then. Thanks for the match,” she said. She scratched at the loose hairs on the nape of her neck and turned toward the gates.

“Herald.”

Shane spun back around.

“I’m not one of those templars,” the commander said in that husky voice with a smile tugging on that sexy lip scar on his insufferably handsome face. _Damn_.

Shane laughed, aware that it sounded more breathless than she would have liked, and turned back toward the gates. She waved over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Good to know.” 


	3. Choices

“The Lord Seeker is a demon.”

Shane’s declaration was placid and artless, but there was enough hysteria in the war room already; she didn’t care to aggravate the situation by being theatrical.

Commander Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra had been bickering about whether to ally with the mages or the templars since the moment Shane returned to Haven from Val Royeaux. She had been standing at the war table with her hands behind her back waiting for the heads of the Inquisition to cease tearing into one another so she could actually finish delivering her report, but it had gotten ridiculous. Restless for resolution, she had skipped to the interesting bit. All four of the assembled party spun on her abruptly, first assaulting her with silence then all starting to squabble at once. Shane sighed and rode it out.

“This is nonsense!” Cassandra shouted loudly enough to silence the others. “Seekers cannot be possessed!”

“Right,” Shane agreed, “but that’s not what I said. The Lord Seeker isn’t possessed by a demon; he _is_ a demon.”

“Is…that something that can happen?” asked Josephine, glancing from Cassandra to Leliana. Cassandra shook her head; Leliana shrugged.

“I know demons can torment people into seeing…falsehoods,” Commander Cullen put in with a pained expression, “but I’ve never heard of one truly living as someone else.”

“It’s rare,” said Shane. “Many demons can shapeshift or cast glamours, but they don’t know how to be human. This must be a particularly studious demon to be able to trick the templars into thinking it’s actually the Lord Seeker.”

“But it cannot trick you?” asked Leliana, appraising Shane from the shadow of her hood.

“No,” said Shane squarely. “It cannot.”

The moment the Lord Seeker had entered the town square in Val Royeaux, the back of Shane’s throat had burned with a thick metallic itch. The air smelled like ash. Her ears buzzed. The doppelganger looked blurry and warped around the edges as Shane’s eyes struggled to reconcile what they were seeing with the truth. The demon walked a little too fluidly yet swung its arms a little too stiffly. When it spoke, it worked its mouth like it was chewing its tongue. _How did no one notice?_

“I knew something was amiss!” said Cassandra, pounding a fist into the table. “The Lord Seeker would never behave so dishonorably.” She beamed with vengeful hope, but Leliana quashed her elation with efficient pessimism.

“If a demon is masquerading as the Lord Seeker, the real one is likely dead.”

Cassandra opened her mouth as if to respond hotly, but her countenance fell, and all that came out was a small, “Oh.”

“Hang on,” Commander Cullen said, pressing his fingers to his temple and turning to the Herald. “You mean to tell me the Templar Order is being influenced by a demon, and you didn’t expose and destroy it? You let it just…walk away?”

“It may not have been the cheeriest option, but it was the best one at the time,” Shane responded with more conviction in her voice than she actually possessed.

“How?” The commander barked while gesturing indignantly.

Shane bristled.

“I didn’t think attacking the Lord Seeker in the middle of a thick crowd of innocent people and within spitting distance of the White Spire was a great idea,” she huffed. She could picture the doors to the templar headquarters flying open to emit a torrent of armed templars all eager to incinerate her with their holy wrath.

“The Herald is right,” said Josephine. “We can’t be sure the witnesses would see the truth of the situation, and the templars would surely have come to the defense of the Lord Seeker. A confrontation could have turned the Chantry, the Templar Order, and all of Orlais against us…more so than they already are.”

“I was concerned about the crowd’s _safety_ , not its testimony, but thank you Josephine, that is a good point. They might have even assumed I summoned the demon myself.”

The commander sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“So we should ally with the mages,” reasoned Josephine succinctly, as she had been all evening.

The commander glared at her.

“The Lord Seeker may be compromised, but surely there are still loyal templars who would come to our aid,” he said.

The room once again simmered with tension. Shane was not eager to resume the exhausting fight over mages and templars.

“We shouldn’t be thinking about who could be the greatest ally but the greatest threat,” said Shane, placing her palms on the war table. “Demons are bad, but they’re also falling out of every hole in the sky. I’m more worried about the Tevinter magisters the mages are involved with.”

“You would leave the templars to the machinations of a demon?” asked Cullen.

“I’m loath to let this false Seeker go,” said Shane. “but there is an invading force of Tevinter mages in Redcliff. How many wars is Thedas already tangled in? Three? The mages and templars are trying to kill each other, Orlais is bleeding over a needless civil war, and then there’s whatever is going on between Tevinter and the Qunari. I don’t want to sit back while these magisters start a war with Ferelden. I will deal with the Lord Seeker later. I’m approaching the mages.”

Shane wasn’t sure when she had become the one to make decisions for the Inquisition, but the rest of her associates acquiesced. They drew up a plan for her journey to Redcliff then parted ways with solemn nods and few words. Shane wondered whether Commander Cullen would be able to forgive her for choosing to meet the mages instead of the templars but chided herself for the thought. She would do what she thought was best for Thedas. _What I want doesn’t matter._


	4. Mending

Haven had been in a flurry of activity in the days since the mages had arrived from Redcliff. Josephine had been in a frenzy ensuring there were rooms to quarter them and enough food to feed them. Between the mages, refugees, and new recruits, Haven’s population had nearly doubled in the last month.

Cullen had been busy himself. Training and deploying troops was a full job, and he had numerous other Inquisition duties on top of that. He hadn’t even had time to check in on how the preparations for closing the Breach were coming along.

Ever since she had returned from Redcliff, the Herald had been sequestered in the war room with First Enchanter Fiona, Solas, Vivienne, and a Tevinter mage named Dorian who Cullen wouldn’t have trusted to water his horse let alone have a say in an event that could change the face of Thedas.

Yes, Cullen was far too busy to check in with the Herald. That was definitely why he hadn’t spoken to her since she had returned from Redcliff.

Cullen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was being childish. He was disappointed that the Inquisition had passed up the chance to ally with the templars and deeply troubled over the revelation that the Lord Seeker had been replaced by a demon, but the Herald had been right to be concerned about the Tevinter presence in Redcliff. If only the Inquisition were large enough to approach both parties…and if only said parties were willing to work together…but that was the point wasn’t it? The chance for the templars and mages to seek peaceful resolution had been squandered long ago. That was why the Conclave had taken place and the Inquisition had been reformed in the first place. And why should everyone put aside their differences to do something as trivial as mend a hole in the sky?

He sighed again. Brooding wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

He needed to get an idea of what would be expected of him and his men during the assault on the Breach. He headed to the war room.

He paused for a moment to square his shoulders resolutely before pushing the door open and striding inside.

The room was empty.

“We are taking a break,” said Vivienne, walking up behind him. “Was there something you needed, my dear Commander?”

She swayed her hips and pursed her full lips as she approached him. He wondered if carrying herself thusly was second nature after her years at court.

“I was looking for the Herald,” said Cullen.

“Last I saw, she was heading for her quarters. She is quite tense. I would appreciate if you would ameliorate that. It will be difficult to accomplish the large amount of work we have left if she strangles us all.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to ease her mood.”

“Sex, darling,” said Vivienne in a bored tone, examining her fingernails.

Cullen sputtered. Vivienne waved her hand at him haughtily.

“She is under a great deal of stress. She could be killed while sealing the Breach,” said Vivienne. “So could we all. I am certain she is not the only one with tensions in need of easing.”

Cullen shifted his weight under Vivienne’s salacious scrutiny.

“That would be inappropriate. I am just going to speak with her.” _Why am I explaining myself to this woman?_ “Good day, my lady.”

“Good day. Have fun.”

More rattled than before, Cullen stomped off to the Herald’s small room within the chantry. He knocked on the door before he had a chance to second guess himself.

“Come in,” he heard her call, her voice muffled by the splintered wooden door.

He pushed the door open pensively and took one polite step inside.

The Herald was standing next to her bed, shrugging into her coat.

“Are you going somewhere?” Cullen asked. “I can come back later.”

She pulled on a pair of gloves and shook her head.

“I was only going to exercise my horse,” she said. She picked two apples up from her nightstand and shoved them into her pockets where they stuck out from her hips awkwardly.

“I would think your horse gets plenty of exercise,” said Cullen.

“Not lately,” she responded, the weariness on her face deepening. “Doubloon was injured last time I was in the Hinterlands. He’s on the mend, but I had to take a different horse to Redcliff. It’s my own fault; I practically jumped him off a cliff. Dennet’s been walking him, but he should be ready for a short ride today…” The Herald paused. “Sorry. I’m sure you didn’t stop by to hear about my horse. What did you need?”

“I wanted an update on the plans for closing the Breach. I’ll accompany you to the stables. We can talk on the way.”

The Herald was still fastening the buckles on her coat as she and Cullen stepped out of her quarters. A Chantry initiate walking up the hall gave a small squeak and scurried off in the opposite direction. Cullen groaned inwardly when he realized what this must look like. Rumors had been steadfast since their sparring match. He could hardly blame people for talking. He had her pinned beneath him, panting…

“We will be ready to make our attempt on the Breach tomorrow,” said the Herald, dragging Cullen back from his reverie. “We still need to go over a few things and communicate the plans to the rest of the mages. After that, there will be nothing left to do but get a good night’s rest, though I doubt I will be sleeping tonight.”

Her comment recalled Vivienne’s suggestion to his mind.

“Ah…Wh-why do you say that?” Cullen asked, glad they would soon be in the cold mountain air.

The Herald gave him a wry look.

“Oh,” Cullen said, “I suppose you’re nervous.” _Idiot._

“Ha,” the Herald laughed curtly. “I would not have described my state of mind with such restraint, but yes, I am nervous.”

They reached the doors and stepped outside, blinking in the bright sunlight of midday.

“Are you not confident in our success?” Cullen asked.

The Herald sighed.

“We have the First Enchanter on our side. And Solas knows more about the Fade than anyone I’ve ever known, maybe more than anyone alive. I’m fairly well-versed myself. If anyone can figure this out,” she said with a shrug, “we can. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean we have.”

The Herald snarled and kicked at the icy gravel as she walked.

“What do you need of me...and my men?”

“The Breach is stable, so Solas doesn’t think we should have any demons to contend with. Just in case, I would like a solid contingent of soldiers present. Can you bring twenty?” she asked. Then she frowned. “That sounds like a lot. Maybe fifteen?”

It was a modest request. She always asked for little and tried to take on as many obstacles herself as she could.

“I’ll bring thirty,” he said warmly.

She looked up and gave him a muted smile.

“Thank you, Cul…mmander.”

The Herald snapped her gaze forward and began to walk with a brisk pace. Cullen couldn’t help chuckling and was glad she was looking away and couldn’t see the flush he could feel climbing his neck.

As they approached the stables, a stalwart, grey warhorse began to whinny and toss its mane. Cullen felt a pang of guilt. Cassandra had given him that horse, Sabre, when he joined the Inquisition, but Cullen was typically stuck in Haven, orchestrating the Inquisition’s forces from afar. He had little occasion to ride anywhere. Even before the Herald had secured horsemaster Dennet and the Inquisition’s officers were riding plow horses, Sabre had idled in his stall.

“What are you so excited about?” the Herald said as she walked up to Sabre. She rubbed his neck and pressed her forehead to his. “I’m sorry, but I’m not here for you today.”

The Herald pulled one of the apples out of her pocket and held it out to Sabre, who promptly cut a crisp bite through it. When he had finished his snack, Sabre nickered and stomped a hoof.

“What’s gotten into you today?” the Herald asked the horse.

“He’s pleased to see his master,” said horsemaster Dennet from a nearby stall.

The Herald turned to Cullen, her eyebrows raised.

“Sabre is your horse?”

“I…wasn’t aware you were acquainted,” said Cullen.

He stepped forward and gave the horse a hearty pat on the flank. Sabre shoved Cullen’s shoulder with his nose and nickered.

“He’s the horse I rode to Redcliff,” she purred while running her hand over his neck. “He’s very dutiful. A bit tall for me, though. Dismounting felt like leaping from a roof.”

Dennet came up to them leading a sleek, dark brown charger. The horse nuzzled the Herald’s shoulder. The Herald produced the second apple from her pocket and laughed as the fruit was gobbled up. She wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck and pressed her cheek to it.

The Herald typically kept a polite distance from everyone and clasped her hands behind her back. To see her interact so warmly with these animals made Cullen feel heartened and, frankly, a bit jealous.

“He’s doing well, Herald,” said Dennet, “but you shouldn’t keep him out for long.”

She nodded as Dennet held the reigns out to her, but he pulled them back just as she reached for them. “No jumps,” he added.

“No jumps,” agreed the Herald, abashed.

Dennet handed her the reigns.

“Shall I have your horse saddled, Commander?” Dennet asked.

Cullen had planned on heading back to the chantry, but Sabre nudged his shoulder and the Herald tilted her head.

“Join me for a quick ride, Commander?”

Cullen agreed, and the horsemaster waved some stable boys over to saddle his horse.

Cullen and the Herald struck out at a leisurely pace. His horse was quite a bit taller than the Herald’s. He could look to the side and see the top of her head, the sunlight gleaming from her chestnut hair.

A dozen possible topics of conversation floated through his mind and were discarded as trivial or moronic, and the fact that his brief conversation with Vivienne kept popping back into his consciousness was not helping. What Vivienne had suggested, the relationship she had implied, was impossible, inappropriate. She was the Herald of Andraste; he could never ask something like that of her.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?” said the Herald.

Cullen jerked back to reality and must have looked stricken, because the Herald clarified, “About the plans for closing the Breach?”

“Oh. No. I’ll just need an idea of the timing once you have figured it out.”

“Of course.”

They settled into an awkward silence. As they continued their circuit around Haven, the Herald seemed to regain some of the anxiety she had displayed previously. She fidgeted with her reigns and pressed her lips into a hard line.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “About the templars. And for avoiding you.”

She had been avoiding him? He had been fairly certain it was the other way around.

“I had to do what I thought best,” she concluded, lifting her chin to look at him squarely.

“Avoiding me was for the best?” he asked with mock hurt.

The Herald rolled her eyes.

“I meant siding with the mages over the templars was for the best. I’m trying to apologize.”

“I had reservations about the mages,” he admitted, “but I shouldn’t have. Fear and distrust started this war; I should be dismantling old perceptions, not enforcing them.”

Cullen had seen how fear had warped the circle in Kirkwall into a prison and how unwarranted abuse had led to rebellion. He was miserable over his role in the suffering that took place behind those walls and sick with the thought that he might still be learning his lesson.

“And what of the Lord Seeker?” she asked, her voice quiet. “Do you think I should have pursued him first and worried about closing the Breach afterward? I’ve been running all the potential scenarios through my mind over and over, but I keep settling on the same conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“That I made the right choice,” she said casually. “If I had pursued the Lord Seeker and he had killed me, who would close the Breach? I may be the only person who can.”

“You don’t sound like you need my reassurance.”

“I would like to have it,” she said, quiet again, “if you have any reassurance to give.”

Cullen looked to the path ahead of them.

“You were faced with a tough situation and you made a decision. I can’t pretend to know how all of this will turn out, but I admire your resolve.”

It probably wasn’t the answer she had been hoping for, but she gave a nod of acknowledgment. She sat up straighter in her saddle, her weariness replaced with something else.

When they reached the stables, she thanked him for his time and headed back to the chantry to rejoin the other mages. Sabre had grown restless with the sluggish pace the Herald and her rehabilitating horse had set, so Cullen opted to continue his ride. He needed to clear his head, anyway.

Later that evening, he walked past Vivienne in the chantry’s main hall.

“The Herald seemed quite refreshed when we reassembled,” the enchantress called after him slyly.

He smiled to himself and kept walking.


	5. Trust

As Shane began to wake, images flitted through the sleep-laden haze of her mind as she groggily tried to recall where she was and how she had gotten there.

She remembered a terrifying amount of magic passing into and through her, threatening to rip her apart, then surging out of her left palm, raw and crackling. She remembered stumbling with exhaustion as the voices of Haven cheered into the mended sky.

Shane had thought closing the Breach would be the victorious conclusion to her adventures with the Inquisition, but it had turned out to be an incongruous beginning to a bloody conflict. As the warning bells tolled, soldiers and townspeople alike rushed to arm themselves, many of them drunk from their inopportune celebration.

There was already commotion outside the gates when Shane reached them. The doors were thrown open and Shane was horrified to find the snow already red and steaming with blood. Standing amidst the broken bodies was a boy holding daggers out to his sides. He was dripping with blood, and he was human only in body. A righteous fervor pulsing through her veins, Shane had gripped her staff in her left hand and thrust her right one out to her side. Spasms arched down through her arm as she built up the energy required to burn the demon from the boy’s body.

Shane ran toward him, but her charge was interrupted when someone tackled her from the side. She blew her attacker back with a burst of force magic, stumbled sideways, and then whirled on her attacker as she regained her feet.

Solas was bent forward with his hands on his knees, reeling from the impact of Shane’s magic.

“Solas?” Shane was incredulous. “ _That_ ,” she shouted, pointing at the boy, “is a demon.”

“I do not think so,” Solas said, regaining his breath. “He is a spirit…I think.”

Shane knew there were benevolent spirits in the Fade, but her experience with them was limited and rife with skepticism. In the presence of this boy, just as with the Lord Seeker and every demon she had ever faced, Shane tasted metal in the back of her throat. Every movement and noise that came from him caused ripples in Shane’s vision and whirs in her hearing.

“I want to help,” said the boy, his voice humming in Shane’s ears. “Your Herald took his mages. He wants to hurt her.”

The boy pointed toward the advancing army where there stood a being that made Shane’s lungs freeze and her throat clamp shut. Where the curious demon boy emanated ripples of distortion in Shane’s vision, the approaching monstrosity looked like the center of a typhoon. Between the distortion, her exhaustion, and the taut shreds of skin stretching over the hunks of red lyrium digging into the monster’s skin, Shane had to fight the dizzying urge to vomit. 

A strangled yell rent the air as Red Templars met the Inquisition’s soldiers. Whatever this gangly boy standing before her was, its warning had come too late. The fact that it had intended to warn them at all gave her pause.

Shane clenched her jaw and breathed out through her nostrils.

“We don’t have time for this now,” she said. “Solas, if you are intent on protecting this demon, you are responsible for it.”

The memory faded as the sound of clipped bits of passing conversations, the smell of fire, and the touch of chill air invaded her consciousness. She expected morning sunlight and the familiar bustle of Haven but instead found twilight thick with the smoke of campfires.  Shane found herself in a large tent, blinking the haze of sleep from her eyes. Mother Giselle was sitting at her side, humming softly and mending a garment with needle and thread.

“You remember me.”

Shane and Mother Giselle jumped as the demon boy from Haven stepped out of a shadowed corner.

“People don’t usually remember me,” he said.

Shane tried to sit up, but fell back to her cot groaning and feeling the feeble magic of the exorcism spell she had tried to summon fizzling from her limbs.

Then he was gone.

Shane blinked a few times and wondered if he had just been a bleary half-dream. Mother Giselle had a puzzled expression on her face. When her eyes met Shane’s, she dropped her sewing needle in surprise.

“You’re awake,” said Mother Giselle, looking baffled. She leaned over Shane, feeling her forehead and pulling covers up around her neck.

Something tickled her face. Shane looked down and found that instead of a blanket she was draped with a familiar rust-colored cloak trimmed with a swath of dark brown fur. She hadn’t been sure where she stood with Commander Cullen after bringing the mages to Haven, but waking up under his cloak was a good sign. She smiled and nestled her face into the fur. Then she groaned.

Her head was pounding. After diving into that cellar in Haven, she had dragged herself through miles of knee-deep snow in what she hoped was the direction of the fleeing survivors’ camp. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out there, no number of hours sounded like enough. The only water available to her in all that time had been the snow itself, and Shane had no desire to freeze to death even faster.

“Water,” she croaked.

Mother Giselle pressed a waterskin to Shane’s lips. After she drained it, Shane asked, “How long?”

“It has been about eighteen hours since the scouts found you,” Mother Giselle said softly, smoothing strands of sweat-dampened hair from Shane’s face with her warm, leathery hand.

Shane groaned again. “I’ve been spending an awful lot of time unconscious lately.”

“At least you woke,” said Mother Giselle.

Shane followed Mother Giselle’s gaze to the empty cot next to hers.

“Chancellor Roderick will be missed,” Mother Giselle said by way of explanation.

Shane nodded solemnly. She and the Chancellor had not started on good terms, but he had been a hero and a friend in the end.

“He was a good man,” said Shane. “Everyone here owes him their lives.”

“The same could be said of you.”

Shane tried to make a nonchalant gesture but only succeeding in stiffly jerking her sore limbs.

“I’m also the reason Haven was attacked in the first place,” she said glumly.

“No, child. You have been drawn into this conflict against your will, like all of us.”

Actually, Shane had no idea how or why she had become involved. She balled her left hand into a fist around her mark, or the Anchor, that’s what that monster, Corypheus had called it. A darkspawn magister was preparing to assault the heavens, and Shane was one of the fragile obstacles in his way. She struggled to take a steadying breath. The Breach was closed. Even if little else in her recent memory was clear or positive, she had that one fact to cling to.

The sounds of an argument were carried into the tent on the cold breeze. Shane recognized the voices of Leliana, Josephine, and Commander Cullen but couldn’t make out the words. Their harsh tones grated on her headache.

“What are they fighting about?” she asked.

“Where we will go. What they will do. How to protect the lives of those depending on them. They are wayward, Herald,” answered Mother Giselle. “They need someone to calm their fears, pull them together, and move them forward.” Mother Giselle placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Someone like you.”

Shane looked at her skeptically. “You’re not about to start singing are you?”

Mother Giselle chuckled.

“Some good news will cheer them,” she said. “I will let them know you are awake.”

Mother Giselle was right. Leliana and Josephine fell around Shane with a warmth and familiarity she hadn’t been expecting. Commander Cullen stood back a pace, and gave her a bashful smile.

Shane grimaced as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“How are you feeling?,” said Josephine, putting her hand on Shane’s forearm, her eyebrows scrunched together.

“Like a mountain fell on me.” Shane laughed hoarsely.

“I… _we_ are happy to see you recovering,” said the commander.

Leliana eyed the cloak sprawled across Shane’s body. “And looking so… _comfortable_ ,” she lilted.

Josephine cast a glare over her shoulder at Commander Cullen, and he seemed to take a sudden interest in something on the floor.

“Yes, besides the sore muscles and likely fractured bones, I am quite comfortable. I can’t say I mind waking up to find the commander’s clothes strewn across my bed,” said Shane.

Leliana’s laughter filled the tent, an airy, melodic sound Shane had never heard before and one that was most welcome. Josephine somehow managed to scowl harder. The commander and Mother Giselle both looked mortified. _Right. Forgot the chantry mother is still here._

The tent’s flap parted and Solas stepped inside.

“I was told you are awake,” he said. “I would like a moment to assess your condition and administer additional healing.”

“Let’s leave the Herald to her rest,” said Josephine, standing and looking at her companions pointedly.

Leliana and Commander Cullen moved to follow her toward the exit. Whatever comfort Shane’s recovery might have brought them was already fading. Worry and doubt reclaimed their features as they pulled the tent’s flap back.

Shane’s own mood was growing cloudy with barely suppressed pessimism. The dark fury and constrictive dread she felt as the warped templars had marched into view at Haven was quietly roiling in her chest. She thanked the Maker for taking her brothers to his side and sparing them from the red lyrium’s corruption.

After the attack, Shane had found Commander Cullen in the chantry, raking a hand through his hair and looking beaten.

“At this point…all we can do is make them work for it,” he had said. “The only choice left is how spitefully we end this.”

The fatalistic venom in his words had shocked her.

“Cullen…” Shane had tried to fill her voice with admonishment, but it came out soft and heavy. He had looked down at her with tired eyes.

“Cullen…” Shane called out just before he stepped out of the tent. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her.“Thank you for letting me use your cloak.”

“Of course, my lady,” Cullen said with a smile as he left.

Solas rolled his eyes.

As he eased pulses of healing magic through her aching bones, Solas was not too sympathetic for Shane’s health to resist gibing at her about how helpful the demon boy had been with setting up their little refugee camp.

“I suppose I owe him an apology,” grumbled Shane. “Just don’t let Demon Boy watch me sleep anymore, okay?”

“His name is Cole.”

Shane raised her eyebrows and tipped her head to the side. “Cole then,” she said, “but don’t feel too gratified, I am still wary. I think he did something to vex Mother Giselle earlier. After he popped off, she looked at me like I was a nug in a bonnet.”

“He does that.”

“Well, consider me completely mollified,” said Shane dryly.

Solas responded to her sarcasm with silence, as he often did. Shane sighed. She relaxed back into the cot and let the gentle buzz of Solas’ magic soothe her weary muscles, but her mind was scrambling. A demon in a floppy hat was the least of her problems.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked, after a time.

“Like seeds carried by a storm, we will eventually come to rest and put down roots.”

“Or get eaten by birds.”

Solas wore the disapproving frown that suited him so well.

“What?” Shane asked. “Where are we supposed to go?” She propped herself up on her elbows, because it was hard to be indignant while lying down.

“I have an idea about that,” said Solas. He stopped his healing magic, put his hands in his lap, and looked at her soberly. “In this, as with Cole, I must ask for your trust.”

Shane and Solas were never going to be friends, but he had proven himself many times to be dependable. He had known how to close the Breach, and he had saved her life more times than Shane wanted to think about. She looked Solas in the eye.

“You have it.”


	6. Frogs

Cullen leaned over the war table, one hand pressing down on the map and the other rubbing his forehead. His to-do list for the day was lengthy, and he had not slept well. The Inquisition lost many men at Haven, and the army was dwindling. The weeks since reaching Skyhold had been wrought with grim concessions. His men needed training, they needed to work guard shifts around Skyhold, and they needed to be deployed to various locales. They also needed to do things like eat and sleep. Cullen was forced to thin the guard and reduce the training schedule. He needed greater numbers. It was heartening to know that new recruits were likely already on the way, inspired by some new wonder accomplished by the Herald. _No, not “Herald”. She is the Inquisitor now._

He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and looked down at the map. Green circles marked all of the rifts the Inquisition knew about from scouts and rumors. The Inquisitor had been methodically closing them; every green circle in the Hinterlandswas now obscured by a victorious X. Green circles still littered the rest of the map. Cullen wondered how many more rifts the Inquisitor had closed since he last saw her and pictured the look of smug satisfaction she would be wearing as she scratched them off the map.

“Is that a smile, Commander?”

Cullen looked up from the table, and Leliana tittered airily as she walked into the room. He hadn’t heard her approach, not that anyone ever did.

“I was just admiring the progress we’ve made,” Cullen said, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword.

“We have come far,” agreed Leliana, walking around the table to stand beside him, “but we have even further to go.”

“I know,” said Cullen as he took a pawn from its box and hefted the piece, the cast metal heavy in his hand. The task before them could seem insurmountable at times, and so much of it depended on _her_.

“Have you any news of the Inquisitor’s return?” He tried to make the question sound casually professional. If Leliana’s cheeky expression was any indication, he failed.

“I actually came here to tell you that she just arrived.”

Cullen blinked back his surprise and hoped his relief didn’t show on his face.

“Why did she not come straight here to give her report?” he asked.

“The poor girl has been riding for days, and she wanted to eat something that wasn’t cobbled together over a cookfire,” Leliana scolded lightly. Then she took a step closer to whisper conspiratorially. “I just saw her heading down to the dining hall for a late lunch. Alone. I’m sure she would be willing to give you a _personal_ update.” Her Orlesian accent only made her tone more suggestive, and Cullen felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. She gave Cullen an entirely unnecessary wink as she turned and walked back out of the war room.

Cullen once again leaned over the table, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything on the map. He could wait until the Inquisitor called the war council together to hear of her latest exploits. There was no need to make her repeat herself. Besides, spending time alone with the Inquisitor was a bad idea. Cullen tapped a finger on the map then pushed away from the table. Then again, he _was_ feeling a bit hungry, and if the Inquisitor happened to be in the dining hall, it would only be polite to check in.

His lunch was typically brought to his office where it was often neglected and left to grow cold. It had been days since he last walked down the wide stone stairs into the dining hall.

It was late in the day, and the long dining tables were mostly empty. A trio of young boys who had been muttering with great animation hushed one another as Cullen walked past their table. They were huddled around something he couldn’t quite make out. He contemplated investigating but caught sight of the Inquisitor a few tables down.

He grabbed a plate from the serving table and tossed some cold meats and bread onto it without a discerning eye then headed for the Inquisitor’s table. She was frowning at her plate, and her fork sat idly in her hand.

“How are you this afternoon, Inquisitor?”

She jumped at his approach then laughed at herself.

“Startled,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “And conflicted.”

“Puzzling over some impossible conundrum the Inquisition has thrown you into?” asked Cullen.

She waved her hand dismissively.

“It’s nothing to do with the Inquisition,” she said.

“Oh, then…what are you conflicted about?” he asked. If she wasn’t brooding over Inquisition business…could it be something personal? He watched impatiently as she bit her lower lip.

She sighed heavily and slapped her fork down on the table.

“Frogs.”

Cullen blinked.

“Frogs?”

The Inquisitor nodded solemnly.

“They have always been my favorite animal. I used to grow them from tadpoles as a child in the tower. Now…,” she said, flinging a brusque gesture at her plate, “I come to find they are delicious.”

She crossed her arms and looked from the frog legs on her plate up to him, shaking her head.

After a moment of stunned silence, deep laughter tumbled from his mouth. She leaned forward on her elbows and grinned in response.

“Having difficulty adjusting to Orlesian food, are you?” he asked once his laughter had subsided.

“It’s different,” she conceded, “but I’ve enjoyed most of it. I am starting to miss Free Marcher food a little, though. It’s a lot simpler.”

“Ferelden food also tends to be less fussy. It’s very heavy on root vegetables, dried meats, and pickled…everything.” Cullen set aside his gloves to tear a roll that looked more like a flaky dessert than bread. “The other day, the cook served me soup that was stone cold. When I asked her to heat it up, she looked at me like I had thrown it in her face. Apparently it was supposed to be like that.”

The Inquisitor laughed, and Cullen felt his weariness being siphoned away.

“Cold soup?” she said. “What’s the point? Soup is meant to warm you on a chilly day.” She picked her fork back up and resumed picking at her lunch.

“The food in the tavern is probably closer to what you’re used to,” Cullen offered.

“It’s hard to get back to work after eating lunch with Sera. She always wants to go off on some caper. And now that Iron Bull and the Chargers are here, I’m guessing the tavern is quite…lively. I don’t want to be drunk while the sun is still up.”

“Iron what?”

“Iron Bull. A mountainous Qunari with an eyepatch and a dislike for shirts.”

“And the Chargers?”

“Iron Bull’s mercenary band,” she said. She winced. “They are very expensive. I expect to get an earful from Josephine.”

“First you take in a delinquent Tevinter mage, and now you’ve brought mercenaries to join the Inquisition?”

“That’s what I’m supposed to be doing isn’t it? Seeking out allies in every alley and alcove?”

“Yes, but a little discretion…”

“We need seasoned fighters, do we not? I dislike playing the pessimist, but most experienced warriors are not saintly ex-templars.”

The Inquisition _was_ in dire need of men, so he would have to concede that point, but he prickled at being called saintly. He imagined she would have called him something else entirely if she knew what sort of thoughts had lately been occupying his mind as he lay awake at night.

He was spared the need to fashion a response when a round of giggles erupted from the boys who had raised his suspicions earlier.

“Those boys are up to something,” he said, craning his neck to get a better look at them.

“They’re looking at a book of dirty pictures,” the Inquisitor stated plainly while dragging a forkful of mushrooms through a pool of melted butter.

“What…We don’t have enough swords or blankets; how did something like _that_ get all the way to Skyhold?”

“I’m sure there is any number of erotica enthusiasts in Skyhold, but I would bet my coin on Cassandra.”

“Cassandra? No. She wouldn’t…How could you even…” Cullen sputtered.

“On our way to the Storm Coast, I found an issue of the Randy Dowager Quarterly in her pack,” she said. She popped a buttered mushroom into her mouth, and it left her lips glistening. “Sometimes people seem uptight, but you just need to get to know them better.”

She gave him a look he didn’t know how to interpret, but it threatened to send his mind down a course he could not let it follow. He cleared his throat.

“Speaking of Sera, Iron Bull, and your other misfit companions…”

“We weren’t talking about that anymore.”

“…how are you getting on with Cole?”

He grasped at the new topic like it was a buoyant log in a roiling ocean. She was smirking at him. He refused to direct his eyes to anything but his food, but he could _feel_ her smirking at him.

“He continues to be disconcerting, but he hasn’t done anything particularly alarming,” she said. “I had a lengthy chat with the other mages about him recently. Solas is very assured of Cole’s benevolence. Dorian made the mistake of joking that he doesn’t trust the judgment of people without hair. I don’t think he’s ever seen Vivienne without her headdress on. You should have seen the look on her face! Poor Dorian hid in the library until it was time to leave for the Storm Coast.”

Cullen put down his fork. She smiled so earnestly when talking about the Tevinter mage. The two of them had been nearly inseparable since returning from Redcliff.

“You and Dorian have become fast friends,” he said curtly.

“Yes, well, that just sort of happens when you are the only two people to remember a gruesome alternate timeline,” she said flippantly.

“Just…be careful,” said Cullen quietly. “I find it hard to believe that someone capable of so much preening could be very sincere.”

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows.

“Am I mistaken, or do you think he’s interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” The words spilled out of Cullen’s mouth before he had the good sense to realize what he was admitting. _Maker, I might as well invite her to my quarters._

She just chuckled and said, “I am in no danger from Dorian. He’s much more likely to be trouble for handsome commanders.”

Cullen gaped. _Dorian prefers…_

“You look flushed,” she continued, frowning. “Don’t tell me…are you interested…”

“Er…” _Maker, she knows._

“In Dorian?”

“What? No! I…”

“I didn’t realize you were…”

“I’m not.”

“…of that persuasion.”

“I’m not,” he said more firmly, “of that persuasion.”

She fidgeted with her fork and Cullen stared into his plate and tried to remember what it felt like to breathe normally.

“So,” she licked her lips before continuing, “neither of is in love with Dorian?”

“It would seem not,” affirmed Cullen.

“Well,” she said mischievously, “Maybe ogling my new shirtless mercenary will help him cope.”

They both had a laugh at that, and Cullen felt foolish for harboring vitriol for the man.

They passed the rest of lunch pleasantly enough, and he never did ask for an update on her progress in the Storm Coast.

As he walked back to his office, he wondered if he had seen a hint of disappointment in her expression when she thought him enamored with Dorian. He was probably just imagining it. He was pleased that she had called him handsome, though.

He should have heeded his own warnings. Having lunch with the Inquisitor was definitely a bad idea.


	7. Something Sweet

As was typical, Cullen was working late into the night. His eyes were starting to lose focus as he stared at the parchment in front of him in the dim candlelight. He needed to finish the report before retiring, or he was sure it would never get done. There were just too many other things vying for his time.

He dragged a thumb and forefinger across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache was beginning to take seed.

He shook his head clear and reached for a pile of reports stacked precariously on the far corner of his overburdened desk. As his fingers brushed the top of the pile, he realized with annoyance that the report he needed to reference was back in the war room. Perhaps it could wait until morning. He sat back in his chair, snarled, stood, and stomped toward the door.

The hour was late enough that the battlements were barely lit. Cold air whipped at his cloak, and he grimaced as it stung his face. He entered the relative warmth of the main keep and closed the door against the elements.

As he walked along the cracked flagstones leading to the war room, he was surprised to see light emanating from under the door. He entered to find a fire crackling merrily in the hearth and the Inquisitor seated at the war table, staring blankly at a pile of papers from dark, droopy eyes, an unmoving quill poised in her hand. _What is she still doing here?_ She and her companions had returned from the Fallow Mire that evening and had finished giving their verbal report hours ago.

She looked up blearily as Cullen entered.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked cheekily.

“Is…this the sort of thing you dream about?”

“I suppose not. If I was dreaming, you would be wearing a lot less clothing. And carrying a cake.”

“Er…” Did she confound all of her associates in this manner?

“Please excuse my lewdness,” she said. “I am very tired.”

“I didn’t realize depravity is a symptom of sleep-deprivation,” said Cullen with laughter in his voice.

“Some symptoms are unique to the individual, and the degree of my exhaustion is far more acute than usual. Didn’t I tell you how many villagers I had to perform exorcisms on in the Fallow Mire? Hardly anyone lives there, but the percentage was very high. That swamp was like a soup made of mud, moss, and demons.”

Cullen took the seat next to hers. Rebellious wisps of hair stuck out from her bun, and her complexion was waxen. She was still wearing her traveling clothes.

“Perhaps it’s time you found your way to bed,” he suggested in a soothing voice.

The Inquisitor sighed and drummed her fingers on her papers.

“Josephine has planned a long day of entertaining dignitaries for me tomorrow. If I don’t get these reports and letters squared now, I never will.”

Cullen nodded. This was a circumstance he was all too familiar with. When so much responsibility rested on them, something as simple as a good night’s sleep felt selfish.

“Perhaps you know a remedy for tiredness, then?” he asked.

She laughed.

“Most of the unfortunate recipients of my scant healing abilities have bigger problems than sleepiness. My curative talents center mainly on preventing recently-exorcised victims of possession from going into shock or bleeding out.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I could use some help staying awake myself.”

She dragged a finger over her lips and hummed while squinting at him. “Actually, I may have a remedy after all.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and she lowered her voice even though they were the only people in the room. “Come with me.”

She stood and walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the frame to turn and look over her shoulder at him.

Cullen realized he hadn’t moved and lurched after her.

When they passed through Josephine’s office, Cullen glanced at Josephine’s tidy desk. The ambassador hadn’t been there when he had approached the war room, and he wasn’t surprised to find that her seat remained vacant, but he was still relieved. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he was doing something she would chastise him for.

After exiting Josephine’s office, Cullen expected the Inquisitor to cross the main hall toward the undercroft, but instead she turned sharply to the left and opened the door to her personal quarters. _Why in Andraste’s name has she led me here?_

She walked through the doorway without a backward glance, completely at ease. Cullen, conversely, did _not_ feel completely at ease. The Inquisitor was halfway down the hall before he crossed the threshold and gingerly shut the door behind him.

The mystifying woman lightly climbed the stone steps leading to her bedchamber, and he plodded after her like he’d forgotten how stairs work.

He had never seen her rooms before. A lazy fire crackled in the hearth, casting the spacious and well-appointed quarters in warm, dim light. She walked up to her four-post bed and tossed her head at him, urging him to join her. His stomach was in knots as he drew nearer and stopped at a respectful distance.

She leaned toward him.

“This will have to be our little secret,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Then the Inquisitor brought her hands up under her chin and started to unfasten the top buckle on her coat.

When the first buckle was open, she moved on to the next one.

Cullen felt like his head was stuffed with cotton, and he was sure his mouth was hanging open.

The second buckle opened.

_Could she really want to…?_

Another buckle. He swallowed hard.

_She led me to her bedside in the middle of the night and started taking her clothes off. It can’t get much clearer than that, can it?_

Pulling in a sharp breath, he took a step toward her.

He stopped short as she gleefully produced a small dagger from her coat’s inside pocket.

He dropped the hand that had been mere inches from her waist and blinked back his shock.

“This is the second time you’ve unexpectedly pulled a dagger on me,” said Cullen thickly. “Are you sure you’re not a rogue?”

She laughed, sat on the edge of her bed, and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. She absently lifted out the contents – a book, a box of matches, a jar of something – and put the items aside. She jabbed the blade of the dagger into the corner of the empty drawer and started to pry up a false bottom.

“I like to have a dagger on hand,” she explained. “You never know when you might need one.” She nodded toward the panel she was coaxing from her drawer.

“I thought you kept one sheathed at the small of your back?” He recalled the blade she had drawn on him during their sparring match so many months ago.

“I do. That one...needs to be cleaned” she stopped work on the drawer and stared ahead for a moment. “That’s my silver dagger for exorcisms that are…beyond hope.”

“This one is little more than a kitchen knife,” she continued, hefting the small weapon. “I keep it hidden in my coat in case I ever get disarmed. Cassandra was still able to find it when she threw me in chains, though. Maker, aren’t I pleasant company this evening?”

Almost as if his body was acting of its own accord, he sat down next to her and placed his hand on her forearm.

She jerked her shoulders in surprise but didn’t pull away. Cullen wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “…that your dagger needs to be cleaned.”

She nodded with her eyes downcast.

“Me too,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been cleaning it a lot lately.”

He gave her forearm a little squeeze.

The Inquisitor took a long breath through her nose and shook her head as if dislodging her dark thoughts. Then she pulled her arm away from him and returned her attention to the drawer.

She popped the slat of wood out of its place and lay it aside. Once her knife was returned to its hidden pocket, the Inquisitor looked at Cullen expectantly, some of the sparkle having returned to her eyes.

Cullen leaned across her cautiously to peer into the enigmatic drawer. He saw hard candies, chocolates, candied fruit, and a wide assortment of other sweets.

“You keep _candy_ hidden in a false-bottomed drawer?”

“Of course,” she responded lightly. “Otherwise Josephine would eat it all.”

She hummed and tapped a finger on her chin.

“Where to start?” she murmured. “Have you any suggestions?”

“Do you have caramels?”

“I do.” She lifted a small wooden box and flipped the lid off, revealing several plump cubes of Cullen’s favorite sweet. “Someone gave these to me very recently…but I can’t seem to remember who…”

She looked at the caramels with glassy eyes for a moment then shook her head. She gently picked one up and put it in her mouth. She grunted her appreciation and held the box out to Cullen.

He tugged one of his gloves off and made a selection. Sweets were an indulgence that rarely tempted him; he couldn’t even remember the last time he had tasted any. He popped the caramel into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue. The mellow flavor soothed his nerves, and he leaned back, putting his weight on his hands.

The Inquisitor turned toward him and quirked an eyebrow. She pushed the caramel into her cheek to ask, “Comfy?”

He hummed and nodded.

She chuckled warmly. Her hands went to work on the final two buckles of her coat. The coat slid down her slender shoulders and was tossed across the bed dismissively.

“There,” she said, “now I’m comfy, too.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder at the heap of leather, the thin barrier that was her final defense against attack and injury.

“I’m going to requisition some battlemage armor for you,” he announced abruptly.

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows.

“Your coat can’t be doing much to protect you,” he explained. “Besides, your armor should tell onlookers who you are.”

The Inquisitor looked contemplative as she pulled a small bag out of the drawer and loosened the drawstring. She sampled something chocolate-covered before passing the bag to him.

“ _Your_ armor is certainly distinctive,” she said.

Cullen took a bite of one of the chocolate things then recoiled as a bitter flavor flooded his mouth.

“What _is_ this?” he asked. He held the rest of the piece at arm’s length. 

The Inquisitor burst into laughter.

“Candied peel,” she said. “Not a fan?”

“No,” he responded. “Definitely not.”

The Inquisitor shrugged. Her warm fingers brushed his as she plucked the remaining hunk of offending food from his hand and tossed it into her mouth.

“So,” she continued, “When you were still wearing a templar uniform were you secretly dreaming of dressing up like a lion?” She took a lazy bite of some rose-scented confection.

“No,” he said sheepishly. “It was Leliana’s idea. She says it’s…dashing.”

“Orlesians might have a bias in favor of lions, but…” She made slow eye contact with him. “She’s not wrong.”

He nervously broke from her gaze. Cullen could feel his heart hammering, and wondered how she didn’t hear it echoing from his armor. He became hyperaware of how intimate their current situation was. They were lounging on her _bed_ and sitting so close together that the sides of their thighs were pressed against each other. Cullen had settled back on his hands, one of his arms almost around her.

There was a dusting of powdered sugar over her lips.

Maker, did he want to kiss it off.

He wanted to curl his fingers through her hair and pull her into his arms. He wanted to trace a line down her neck with his tongue and lower her onto the mattress.

He forced himself to calm down. Late-night trips to her bedroom notwithstanding, he wasn’t sure how she would react to such an overture. The last thing he wanted to do was overstep his bounds and make her uncomfortable. It would be difficult to continue working together if he made an unwanted advance toward her. But she had brought him to her private quarters, had she not? Her intentions seemed to be innocent, though. But hadn’t she said something about wanting to see him in less clothing earlier that very evening? It was in her nature to be glib; she probably joked like that with everyone.

“We should get back to work.” The words came out of his mouth, but they sounded alien to his ears.

The Inquisitor sighed.

“I…suppose we should.”

Cullen stood, intent on retrieving his report from the war room and returning to his office. The Inquisitor remained seated, fiddling with the drawer’s false-bottom but not making a move to return it to its place.

“I’ll be along later,” she said. “Have a good night, Commander.”

“You as well, Inquisitor.”

He made his leave, glad he hadn’t embarrassed himself. The Inquisitor had been right about this diversion being a remedy for sleep, though. He had a feeling he would be up all night, or maybe all week, and it had nothing to do with the sugar.


	8. Relations

Shane walked with long, purposeful strides across the main hall. The supple new boots she was wearing barely made a sound despite the force with which she drove them into the flagstones. She paused in front of Josephine’s office and looked to the distressed bit of parchment balled in her left hand. She relaxed her grip, and the anchor flared dully around the crumpled missive, emitting a cranky crackle that jostled the paper but did not burn it.

With her lips pressed together, she puffed a sigh through her nose and rolled some of the tension from her shoulders before pushing past the door.

The spymaster and ambassador were huddled behind the latter’s desk, their foreheads nearly touching as they muttered solemnly over some reports.

Josephine glanced up for just a moment as Shane walked in.

“You are early, Inquisitor,” she said, her tone like that of a weary schoolmistress. Shane tried to imagine Josephine lecturing a group of sullen children on etiquette. Maybe she would suggest it as a retirement option.

“You could hold a quill in that furrowed brow, Josephine.”

“Don’t give her ideas,” said Leliana. “She would use three quills at a time, if she could.”

Josephine balked. “I couldn’t write with my—what are you even insinuating? Don’t be ridiculous.” Josephine rifled through her papers in a harried manner. Leliana gave a subdued laugh and placed a hand on Josephine’s upper back.

“We will be with you shortly, Inquisitor,” the spymaster said by way of dismissal.

Shane nodded and continued down the hall to the room which had begun to fill her with dread. The war room was a place in which legends were written and fates were decided. Shane cringed as the hinges on the heavy wooden door whined to let her pass, the sound rattling in her teeth. After returning to Skyhold the previous day, she had spent hours in the stifling room with her companions relating their account of the events that had taken place in Crestwood. Stepping into the room now, the walls pressed around her, and she felt as if she found herself in a recurring dream she would never wake from.

She let her wrinkled letter fall to the table so she could pace in front of the fire without the weight of it dragging her down.

It was starting to feel like everyone in Thedas wanted—no, _needed_ —something from her. She put her hands on the mantle and looked into the flames. She had almost accepted the fact that her life was no longer hers, but _Andraste’s ass_ , she had wants and needs of her own that were not easily shelved.

The door screeched open, and Shane looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Josephine and Leliana but finding Commander Cullen instead.

“Good morning, Inquisitor.”

This scenario—the Commander entering the war room to unexpectedly find her—was remarkably similar to the last time they had been alone together. That night had ended in Shane shamelessly luring him to her bedroom, and it had not gone as well as she had hoped. The days that followed had been a whirlwind, and Shane had been whisked off to Crestwood before getting a chance to corner him again. She was convinced that she had not misread his interest in her, and she was determined to be more forward. _Is that even possible?_

She turned to the Commander and felt vindicated by the look on his face.

He was staring right at her tits.

She put a hand on her hip and smiled slyly. The commander’s eyes snapped up to hers and then immediately darted elsewhere.

“I see you’ve gotten the armor I requisitioned.” He moved to the war table and absently shuffled some reports that lay upon it.

“Oh, is that what you were looking at?” Shane teased.

The armor was exquisitely made. The chainmail hugged her body and was polished to a luster she previously thought impossible. A midnight blue tabard so dark it was almost black hung from her shoulders, the sigil of the Inquisition intricately stitched across her chest with fine silver thread. It was cinched at the waist with a red sash which continued up over her shoulder, creating a regal effect.

“I just picked it up from Dagna this morning. She assures me it’s been loaded with every runic concoction she knows. I’m going to test it out with some drills in the practice yard after my meeting with Josephine and Leliana.” Shane moved to stand next to him at the edge of the war table. “It’s lovely, Cullen. Thank you.”

His posture softened, and he cleared his throat.

“It’s nothing, Inquisitor. I want to keep…I want you to be safe.” He leaned over the table, pressing his hands to its surface and looking toward the map and pawns. “As far as that is possible, anyway,” he grumbled.

Shane gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. Safety was becoming less of a priority every day. Closing rifts and killing demons were not tasks for the cautious. Shane understood the metered value of caution, but she had never been opposed to taking calculated risks. Something simmered in her chest and stomach when the Commander expressed his desire to keep her safe. She wanted to tell him that she accepted the danger, that she knew her life could end at any time, and that she wanted to make the most of it. She shifted her weight towards him, bringing them so close together they were almost touching.

He straightened up and turned toward her.

“Wait,” he said, a small crinkle in his brow. “Why are you meeting Leliana and Josephine without me?”

Sometimes interacting with this man was like walking into a wall.

Shane took a steadying breath through her nose then blew it back out, sagging in exasperation as she retrieved her crumpled letter.

“The topic doesn’t fall within the realm of your expertise,” she said, unfolding the mangled paper. “Evidentially, some of my distant relatives have been causing a fuss—telling wild tales about me, disavowing me, or giving blessings in my name. And just generally being braggarts or gits. This letter is the latest offense.” She gestured with the letter then read, “My darling niece, it has been far too long since we’ve had you at the manor. It was always such trouble to arrange a visit when you were living in that tower, but it should be no matter at all for you to come along now. I’m having a gala on the next feast day. Nearly every noble in Ostwick will be attending, and they are all eagerly anticipating your arrival. I will see you in a fortnight, my dear. Do pack something decent to wear. Andraste bless you. Lucille Ora Prudence Trevelyan.”

“I wasn’t aware you were planning to visit family,” stated the Commander.

“I’m not,” said Shane hotly. “ _This_ is my invitation. Aunt Lucy is attempting to ensnare me in promises I haven’t made. It is worth mentioning that back when I was a disgraceful blasphemer this same aunt vehemently assured anyone who would listen that she had barely spoken to me since I was sent to the Circle as a child, but that she always felt there was something a bit off about me.”

“I take it you’re not close.”

“Not particularly.” Shane leaned against the table and let the hand holding the letter flop to her side. “It would be nice to see my family again. Even infuriating Aunt Lucy. But I don’t have a surplus of time, and I shouldn’t have to waste it sending a diplomat and a spymaster to quell my own family. I should be closing rifts, hunting demons.” her voice dropped. “I should be with Cassandra, hunting down Lord Seeker Lucius.”

Shane stared at the flagstones. She had just revealed the real source of her stress, and it made her feel naked. _Why did I say that?_ She didn’t want Commander Cullen to see her pouting over guilt she had rightfully earned the day she let the Lord Seeker walk away. Finding that demon and eradicating him was her responsibility.  

Something touched her upper arm, and she started. She looked up to see Commander Cullen jerking his hand from her and back to his side. She cursed herself for being so tense.

“Cassandra will find him,” he said. “You can’t do everything on your own, you know.”

“You can’t stop me from trying,” she said dryly.

“You’re right about that. Nonetheless, the whole of the Inquisition is at your disposal. _I’m_ at your disposal.” He smiled. “Perhaps I could use the Inquisition’s forces to dissuade your unruly relations?”

Shane couldn’t help a bark of laughter escaping at the thought of her Aunt Lucy’s manor being stormed by Inquisition troops only to have the commander politely inform the lady of the house that the Inquisitor had declined her invitation. “I don’t think that will be necessary, which is why I didn’t invite you to this meeting. Besides, the majority of my family is perfectly respectable. We needn’t send out the vanguard to pacify one imperious aunt.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. It could be a good training exercise.”

He was wearing the smirk that Shane longed for whenever they were together. They usually came together to discuss Inquisition business, and his face would be creased with concentration or stress. These rare moments of levity were fast becoming as necessary to her wellbeing as sleep. She focused on every detail—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the playful quirk of his lips—she wanted to write it all down in her memory so she could recite it like a prayer during her darkest moments. But it was all over too soon. He broke eye contact and his smile faltered. He toyed with an idle pawn sitting off to the side of the map.

“On the subject of your family…” he started, “how are your parents fairing?”

Shane thought of the last correspondence she had received from her father. She could picture her mother standing over his shoulder, urging him to jot down a few lines.

“Their responses to my letters have been brief and communicate an odd mixture of pride and embarrassment,” she said. “They’re also grieving.”

It had been days since her mind had drifted to her brothers. Having them out of her thoughts for a time had brought her relief at the time but filled her with shame now. In the silence that hung around her, a sliver of doubt crept into her mind. Maybe she should have been more willing to forgive her aunt for her underhanded scheming.   

“Maybe I _am_ due for a visit to Ostwick,” she said mostly to herself.

“No one would begrudge you a trip home.”

Shane shook her head. She was being selfish and emotional. This was not the time for a vacation. There were too many people depending on the Inquisition, depending on her. “I’m needed here.”

The commander placed his hands tightly on her upper arms and looked at her with a sincerity that made her breath catch in her throat.

“But what do _you_ need?”

“I need...” Her voice came out breathy. She could hear her pulse pounding behind her ears.

The simmer that had begun in her chest started to burn and spread. She stepped into him, placing a hand on his chest. His hands gently shifted to her waist. She raised herself up on her toes, turned her face up to him, and…

The door burst open with a squawk, and Shane and Cullen flew apart as Josephine and Leliana barged into the room. Josephine was muttering into her clipboard and seemed not to have noticed their intimate position. Leliana, however, looked directly at Shane and raised an eyebrow. Shane pressed her lips together and stared straight ahead.

“I apologize for being late, Inquisitor,” said Josephine. “I was attending to another matter that _could_ _have_ _waited_.” The diplomat looked pointedly at Leliana as she bit off the last three words.

“Discussing our wardrobe for Empress Celene’s ball is a matter of great importance,” said Leliana blithely. “You know how critical appearances can be in the Orlesian court. You know, I have copies of some of the latest dress patterns in my quarters, perhaps we could postpone today’s meeting just a bit longer…”

Josephine huffed. “Let us settle this matter with the Inquisitor’s presumptuous relations and be done with it. We’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

“I’m in no hurry,” said Shane. She thought she saw a triumphant sparkle in Leliana’s eyes.

“I…should take my leave,” said Cullen. He started around the table, then paused to grab some reports without even looking at them. “Ladies.” He bowed his head stiffly as he left. Shane felt a surge of consternation as he disappeared from view.

“Now, about this aunt of yours—” started Josephine.

“Excuse me a moment,” Shane interrupted. “There was one more thing I had to…say to the commander.”

Shane tried not to notice Leliana wink as she walked by. She could hear Josephine grumbling as she shut the door behind her.

“Cullen!”

He was half way to the main hall. She jogged up to him.

“Inquisitor. Is there something you…”

Shane grabbed the edge of his chestplate under his neck and roughly pulled him down. She both heard and felt his muffled grunt as his lips crashed into hers. His mouth was stiff with shock but quickly melted into a warm, _hungry_ kiss.

She was vaguely aware of the papers he had been holding falling into a heap on the floor as his hands moved to grip her waist. She snaked her free hand up the back of his neck to dig her fingers into his curls.

He pulled her up against him, and Shane rose onto her toes, crushing her body against his.

When they broke apart, Cullen blinked glassy eyes, looking absolutely stunned. Shane barely suppressed the grin that was threatening to spread across her face. Instead, she gave him what she hoped was an alluring half-smile.

“That will be all, Commander. For now.”

She turned back to the war room, walking more lightly than she had in weeks.


	9. Perfect Pair

Cullen walked across the courtyard toward his office after a visit to the practice fields. He had been wary to relegate the critical task of training troops to anyone else, but the new recruits were thriving under the tutelage of the officers he’d left in charge. He tried not to think about how the much-needed space in his schedule was going to fill with paperwork as he gave friendly nods to merchants and their patrons while passing the kiosks that had sprung up around the keep.

“You’re looking less dour than usual. Did you have a _good morning_ , Curly?”

Cullen rolled his eyes wearily.

Varric had set up a work station under the hay loft and was fletching crossbow arrows with feathers dyed a deep red. The newest member of the Inquisition, Aisling Hawke, was fiddling with an arrow in the fletching jig, a grimace of irate concentration on her freckled face.

Cullen approached Varric and Hawke and hoped he wouldn’t regret the detour.

“My morning has been typical,” he answered.

Varric wasn’t the only one doling out lascivious commentary. Skyhold had been awash in rumor since the commander and the Inquisitor had become…close. Cullen had no illusions about keeping their burgeoning relationship quiet; gossip tore through their ranks like the flu. It didn’t help that his counterpart had a tendency to snog him on the ramparts in broad daylight. He kept meaning to remind her about the virtue of discretion, but when she pressed her lithe body up against him he had a hard time focusing on much else. The night she had kissed him outside the War Room, he had been halfway back to his quarters before he remembered to go back and collect all of the reports he had left strewn about the floor. He would not have relished explaining that to Josephine.

Hawke stopped mangling the arrow she was attempting to fletch and casually set it on fire. It twisted into smoke and cinder as she tossed it into the dirt.

“I’m curious what ‘typical’ means for you these days,” she said. She sidled up next to him, claiming his personal space, and traced a finger down his chest plate. Hawke was proving to be as lively as ever since her reappearance in his life. Cullen was pretty sure the party that had started in the tavern upon her arrival last week was still underway. Her sharp, green eyes appraised him from the uncomfortably close distance, her gaze intensified by the severe green eye makeup that had always made her look like some sort of wild woman. Since he’d last seen her in Kirkwall, she had gained a scar along the right side of her head. Her thick, ginger hair might have hidden it; instead, she had shaved a patch of her scalp and braided the hank of hair above it as if framing her new battle trophy for display. She looked fierier than ever, not that she’d needed it.

Cullen intended to stand his ground, but couldn’t help leaning back a bit.

“Would your randy pirate approve of this behavior?” he asked dryly.

Hawke stepped impossibly closer to him, pressing right up against his side. She continued to trace patterns on his chest plate.

“If Isabela wasn’t back on our ship, hunting slavers, I’m sure she would join in. But shouldn’t you already know that, Knight-Captain?”

Varric wore a calculating grin that was definitely indicative of this scene ending up in his next serial. Cullen was gaping like a fish and didn’t manage to retort with anything cleverer than “Um”.

“Should I be concerned?” Shane asked as she approached, Dorian at her side. They had evidentially had a productive morning with the merchants, because their arms were full of books. Cullen shifted away from Hawke a little too abruptly. A flare of panic gurgled up in his chest, but Shane was smiling.

“I was merely reminding your commander of a missed opportunity,” said Hawke with an imitation of a pout.

“The opportunity being a threesome starring Hawke and her busty lover,” Varric added with a cheerful flourish of a freshly-fletched arrow.

Shane flashed him a wide half-smile, Dorian looked like he would be stroking his goatee suggestively if his hands were free, and Cullen wanted to melt into the dirt.

“If I recall correctly, which I do,” continued Varric, “when Hawke and Isabela made their generous offer, Curly nearly barreled through several innocent patrons in his hurry to run at full speed out of the Hanged Man.”

“And if _I_ recall correctly,” added Hawke, “we couldn’t talk _you_ into joining us either.”

“I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” said Varric, earning a haughty sneer from Hawke. He casually hefted Bianca and ran a polishing cloth over the crossbow’s contours. “You two would have been fighting over me the whole time.” Varric broke into a proud grin, and Hawke punched him in the arm. The gathered party chuckled affably, and Cullen was glad to not be the only target.

“I can’t blame either of you,” said Dorian. He dumped his books onto Varric’s workbench, scattering loose feathers. The rakish mage ignored Varric’s scowls and moved to clap a hand down on Cullen’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to be wedged between two naked women either. Now if _watching_ was an option…”

“I still would have said no,” Cullen finished firmly.

Hawke wrapped her arm around Shane’s shoulders and leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing the Inquisitor’s ear.

“I do hope he’s more adventurous now,” she purred. Shane evidentially found this hilarious. Cullen was mortified.

With a wink, Hawke released Shane and strutted over the Varric’s side to lean against a support beam.

“I’m not sure yet,” said Shane, turning her playfully sultry eyes toward him, “but I look forward to finding out.”

“Then you’re fortunate that the commander has a mage fetish,” said Dorian. “And since you have a templar fetish, you’re a perfect pair.”

Hawke and Varric laughed heartily. Cullen kept a straight face but groaned internally, reminding himself not to share personal information with the deceptively amiable Tevinter mage. To Cullen’s surprise, Shane only spared Dorian a half-hearted smile. She shifted her weight and rolled her shoulders slightly, but Cullen got the impression she wasn’t fidgeting due to the weight of the books she was carrying.

“Let’s end this conversation before it becomes truly vulgar,” said Cullen. “I have to believe you all have better things to do than make a fool of me.”

Hawke’s eyebrows came together, and she took a breath as if to speak, but Varric beat her to it.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Fun’s over. Next time you come to the tavern, Curly, the first round’s on me.”

Varric started gathering arrows, and Dorian picked up the load of books he had piled on the workbench. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, so Cullen turned leave.

“You don’t really need my help with these do you?” he heard Shane ask. Her query was followed by a grunt that could only have been Dorian suffering as the Inquisitor unloaded her books onto his stack.

She came up beside Cullen and slipped her hand around his arm. He was warmed by the publically-appropriate display of not-necessarily-romantic affection.

“Might I accompany you to your office, Commander?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

“I didn’t feel like helping Dorian shelve books anyway.”

As he strolled toward his office with the Inquisitor in tow, he tried not to think about Dorian’s words and Shane’s reaction to them, but they niggled at his mind.

“What Dorian said about…er…fetishes: I know why he said that about me, but—“

“Oh?” she said innocently. “Why is that?”

“I was asking _you_ …nevermind.” It was silly to ask anyway. Curiosity was natural, but that didn’t mean he should seek to indulge it. Still, the implications of this so-called “templar fetish” dug at his self-confidence.

“What Dorian said,” pressed Shane, “Did it have anything to do with Hawke pawing at you?”

That was a misunderstanding Cullen had to quash immediately.

“Hawke is a captivating person, but I’ve never been tempted to seek anything but comradery from her. She’s a bit…wild…and violent. Like a bear. A bear that can set things on fire with her mind.”

Shane chuckled at that, and Cullen was glad to see whatever offense Dorian had given her was already dissolving.

“I lost a chess match to Dorian in the tavern a few weeks ago,” Cullen explained. “He ordered several flagons of wine…”

“I’m guessing you’re telling me about the wine to preface the fact that you lost.”

Sometimes Shane and her gaudy Tevinter friend had more in common that he would like. Teasing Cullen, for instance, seemed to be a high priority for both of them.

“Yes, I lost. And that’s the last time I’ll place bets with someone so nosy. As his prize, he wanted to know the story of how…how I…er…lost my…”

“Lost your virginity?” Shane said much too loudly. She stopped walking, and her hand tightened on his bicep. Cullen hurried his wide-eyed counterpart past the quizzical guardsman manning the ramparts near his office.

“Why do you sound so excited?” Cullen asked in a hushed voice.

“You have awakened a curiosity I did not know I possessed,” she answered brightly.

Cullen was relieved to reach the privacy of his office until he closed the door behind him and saw Shane’s expression of shock as she surveyed the state of the room.

“Maker,” he grumbled. “I was in the process of—“

“Simulating a burglary? Building a nest for a wild animal?”

“ _Reorganizing_.”

Every surface in his office was covered in books and folders, every surface except for the bookshelves anyway. Even the ladder to his sleeping quarters was draped with a long scroll he had unwound and hung to dry after spilling coffee on it earlier in the morning.

“I have been having a hard time finding things—“

“I can’t imagine why.”

“—so I’m sorting all of my books and files.”

“I see,” said Shane, lifting a book from the nearest pile. She studied the cover then looked up at him. “You know, Cullen, if you have a poltergeist, you really should let me know. I have a rune for that.”

“Weren’t we talking about something else?” Cullen said then almost immediately regretted saying.

“Ah, yes. We were talking about your virginity and how you lost it.”

Why did he even try to maintain his composure in the presence of this woman? She hefted the book in her hand and wore an expectantly mischievous look on her face.

“You’ve told Dorian this story,” she said, “so you _must_ tell me. Or do I have to beat you in a chess match first?” The corner of her mouth curled up. “I mean _again_.”

Turning her away disappointed was probably the best option and certainly the least painful.

“It’s not a pleasant story.”

“Oh, come now. No one is perfect the first time. Everyone needs some practice.”

His imagination flared at the word “practice”, and he couldn’t help but wonder how much “practice” she might have had and with whom she was “practicing”. However, those thoughts were quickly buried under a flood of oft-suppressed memories. He picked up a book and looked blankly at the spine.

“She was an apprentice mage at Kinloch Hold.” The words drifted out of him, and he felt detached from them, like he was hearing them from a distance. “Templars are meant to keep watch over their mage charges, but I would check in on her more often than was strictly necessary or even appropriate.” He allowed himself a small smile and Shane returned it with encouraging warmth. “She was sitting a spirit magic practical that evening. I would have liked to have been one of the templars assigned to attend, but I was off duty. I came up with some excuse to be in the hallway afterward, so I could ask her how it went. I will always remember the flush of pride on her face when she flounced out of that exam room. She put her hand on my arm and politely asked me to escort her to the north library on the pretense of having some work to finish. She was usually quite demure, but that night she was nearly dragging me down the hall. She was invigorated by the success of doing well on her exam, the north library was always deserted at that time of night, and…” the words hung in his throat and he coughed. “Well, I’m sure you can infer the rest.”

“I have the general idea,” Shane confirmed. She was wearing the kind of smile that lives in the eyes, and though he didn’t quite understand her joyful fascination, he savored it in that moment. He could have ended the story there and maybe he should have, but some compulsion made him continue. Some part of him wanted her to know, wanted her to understand.

“She had been training for that exam for ages,” he said. “She had performed poorly on the previous one and was determined to prove herself to the senior enchanter.” Cullen thought of that sweet girl and how she would tuck her strawberry blonde curls behind her ear as she looked up at him from whichever tome she was pouring over. “She always worked so hard, studying later into the night than most of her peers. She was responsible and willful, but…control over her abilities did not come naturally to her.”

Cullen placed the book on the shelf delicately. Shane listened without interruption, standing very still.

“I was assigned to her Harrowing.” His lungs felt empty, the words heavy in his mouth. “From the moment the lyrium hit her, her body trembled and beads of sweat stood out on her skin. She was under for an unbearably long time, and when she came out of it, she…she wasn’t Solona anymore. I…I had to...”

All of his energy seeped out of him. He glanced furtively to Shane, expecting that she might be looking uncomfortably at the floor, but she was staring right into him. She appeared to be biting down hard on her bottom lip, and her hands were clenched tightly around the book she had picked up earlier.

“I didn’t mean to drag up painful memories,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Cullen.”

The memory of Solona’s failed Harrowing had haunted him for nearly twelve years and would likely continue to do so for the rest of his life. Though, on some purely pragmatic level, he had come to terms with it. He knew he had not had a choice. Even Hawke understood, and she and Solona had been relatives.

“Make it up to me.” Cullen stepped close enough to feel the warmth coming off of Shane’s body and lifted the book from her hands, freeing the space between their bodies. He gave her his most roguish smile and was pleased to see her lips part mutely, her body unmoving save a few stunned blinks. “…By telling me why Dorian says you have a templar fetish,” he clarified. “I seem to recall you ‘have a thing’ for templars, but I suspect there’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, right.” Shane laughed at herself, but strangled the sound off abruptly as if wanting to take it back. “I’m afraid that story turns morose as well.”

She stepped back and lifted another book from the stack.

“I had a lover who was a templar,” she said without preamble. Cullen was expecting something along these lines. He was also expecting the pang of jealousy that accompanied the verification of his suspicions. “After completing my apprenticeship with First Exorcist Hammond, I struck out on my own, answering calls for help in the countryside with my own apprentice and two templars.” She put the book on the shelf and smiled a little. “To this day, I always travel in a four-person party. It just feels right.”

Cullen would have preferred for her to bring more of her companions along on missions, but she had insisted from the start that she preferred a smaller group. Even before his personal interest in her wellbeing took root, he was mindful of protecting her, the only person capable of closing rifts. He might have continued to object to her miniscule adventuring party if not for the talent of the people it was comprised of. For all their faults, he had to admit that Varric and Dorian were talented individuals with a robust interest in keeping Shane safe. Cassandra was searching for Lord Seeker Lucius, but her temporary replacement, Warden Blackwall, seemed to be a man of honor.

 “One of the templars in my party was a man named Ogden. He was gruff and curmudgeonly, barely spoke to me, but he was always quick to charge between me and danger,” she lowered her voice secretively, “I also caught him sneaking a whole roasted pheasant to the dogs in the kennel once.”

“Your lover was a gruff, curmudgeonly man who barely spoke to you?”

“What? No, Ogden wasn’t…Just let me finish the story, okay?”

Cullen held his hands up in apology.

“Ogden was nearing his fiftieth year when he…became lyrium-addled.” Bluntly stating that she had a templar lover hadn’t revealed so much as a glimmer of ladylike embarrassment, but she glanced at Cullen sheepishly now. “He kept forgetting to recharge the protective wards he was expected to maintain when we found ourselves in combat. When he tried to leave the tower without his greaves one day…we knew, and the Knight-Commander forced him to retire.

“Garen was Ogden’s replacement. He was relatively new to the tower, and he had been stationed in the lower levels, keeping watch over the youngest mages, so I hadn’t interacted with him much before he was assigned to my party. He was quiet at first—sarcastic and disagreeable. He clearly resented his assignment. But, over time, we each worked our way into the other’s routines, and eventually we became indispensable to one another. When we were at home in the tower, I would walk the long way from the laboratories to my quarters, so I could stop by the apprentice wing to see him. When we were on the road together, he would help me saddle my horse. Little things. On our way home from exercising a demon from a minor noble’s unbelievably young second wife, we were staying at a shabby little inn in a bad part of town when I invited him to my room to…keep watch.”

Shane waggled her eyebrows obscenely.

“I have the general idea,” he said, mimicking her response to his tale.

“We had been carrying on our illicit affair for some months when we found ourselves just outside of Markham tracking an apostate, a young lady who had run when templars tried to bring her to Ostwick Circle. It wasn’t my team’s usual type of job, but we were available. We hoped to bring her back to the Circle safely, but when we cornered her, she tried to use blood magic against us. When the demon came…she looked so _scared_. The abomination rounded on my apprentice. He had been a very capable student, but Maker, he was _young_. He balked, panicked. I ran to get between them, but…Garen pushed me out of the way…right as that monster swiped down with a long, sharp claw. I hadn’t seen it. And Garen…” Shane pressed her lips together and looked away. “He died. And I got to live.”

Cullen wanted to say something reassuring, but he wasn’t good with problems that couldn’t be solved with squadrons of armed men.

“At least he didn’t become a red templar,” Shane said. She started picking up books and plunking them down onto the shelves roughly.“Their bloodshot eyes and grey skin…the way they twitch and grind their teeth…I can’t bear to think of him becoming like that. When I feel the sick aura of red lyrium creeping into my consciousness while on missions…it fills me with rage. The scary part is that I’m not sure whether the rage is about all the templars who have suffered or if the red lyrium is working its will on me.”

Dread sunk into Cullen’s stomach.

“Does it tempt you?” he asked.

Shane shook her head.

“Maybe if I used lyrium regularly I would crave it, but I try avoid it. Lyrium dependence is dangerous. When you get used to using it to fuel abilities that save your life, what happens when you can’t get your hands on any?”

Cullen winced. Cassandra was the only person who knew that he was struggling through lyrium withdrawl; Shane couldn’t possibly know just how acutely he was aware of the dangers of lyrium and the effects of being cut off. His expression must have been enough to give her a hint, because she screwed up her face and looked away.

“And I’m talking to a templar about lyrium dependence,” she said. “I’m an idiot.”

She resumed stacking books briskly.

“You are the opposite of an idiot,” Cullen said, “And I’m actually quite interested in your opinion of lyrium. Have you been working without lyrium all this time?”

“Pretty much.”

“When you go out on missions?”

“Yes.”

“For our sparring match?”

Shane answered with a simple “mmhmm”. Never had any non-words been so unabashedly self-confident.

“When you closed the Breach?”

“Well…no. That was a special case. Solas made me drink so much lyrium potion I was struggling not to vomit for the whole ride up the mountain. It’s a good thing, too. With everything that happened after. I might not have survived otherwise.”

How she could speak of her own near-death so plainly was hardly believable. Still, Cullen was heartened to hear that someone as capable and respectable as Shane had accomplished so much without lyrium.

“You’re incredible.”

She made a dismissive noise.

“I’m nothing special. Well,” she turned her hand to reveal the anchor, glowing peacefully at present, “maybe a little.”

Her bravado probably should have been maddening instead of intoxicating. Cullen slid his hand over hers, weaving their fingers together, feeling the anchor repelling his palm like a spirit barrier. His free hand found the small of her back.

“And now, my _humble_ lady,” he said, turning her hand over and slowly bringing her soft skin to his lips, “please get out of my office.”

Shane looked like she had been suddenly woken, her expression startled. Then the corner of her mouth twitched and she started laughing so hard she nearly doubled over.

Cullen was glad she was amused. He was never quite sure how to be funny, usually only managing to elicit chuckles of pity at his awkward attempts and only inspiring true laughs by accident. He liked to see her happy. He liked being the person making her happy. Her mirth was especially enjoyable after the sad conversation they had been having, so he continued his joke.

“I’ve had enough soul-searching exposition for today, and I really must get back to work. I have very important commanding to do, you know.”

“Do you dismiss all of your visitors in such a disarming manner?”

“No,” he replied, gesturing at the bookshelf Shane had been stocking “but no one else has demonstrated such an atrocious attempt at alphabetizing.”

“I thought we were sorting by subject matter!” she protested. “Now I understand why Maryden wrote a song called The Cantankerous Commander.”

“She did not.”

“You think I’m joking?”

“I’m skeptical that even the most skilled minstrel would succeed at working the word cantankerous into a song.”

“You don’t give Mary enough credit. She’s done an excellent job. It’s very catchy, a little bawdy, but all in good fun.” Shane said.

“Could this bawdy tavern song be the reason Sera keeps shouting ‘A lion on his head, and a lion in his bed’ whenever I’m within earshot?”

Shane burst into laughter again.


	10. Necessities of War

_Commander,_

_With the Inquisitor’s help, my unit successfully took Griffin Wing Keep from the Venatori. The place is run down. It’s hard to imagine a time when it was a well-fortified base of the Grey Wardens. Still, it has walls that stand between us and the criminals littering the sands. It will serve well enough as our base of operations in the Western Approach._

_Send ale._

_Knight-Captain Rylen_

* * *

 

_Commander Cullen,_

_I need my army._

_The Wardens and Venatori have joined forces and are holed up in a Warden stronghold called Adamant Fortress. Taking Griffin Wing Keep was like kicking over a sandcastle compared to what I expect to face there._

_We got this lead from Venatori magister Livius Erimond. My party found him in a tower out in the middle of nowhere, because, for some reason, the Venatori have THREE bases in this Maker-forsaken desert. The Wardens seem to be taking orders from him, and those orders are grim._

_Cullen, they’re killing their own men. They’re using blood magic to bind demons into fighting for them. I would love to be able to tell you that the Wardens are possessed, but they seem to be acting of their own wills. Still, there is more to this arrangement that we have yet to discover. Corypheus is responsible for this. That idiot Erimond let that detail slip. Then he commanded his Wardens and demons to attack my party. I think he was really proud of himself until I anchor-punched him like a Fade rift. He retreated to Adamant, whining like a frightened nug. We were all too busy fighting off our attackers to pursue him. No matter. Adamant has something to do with Corypheus’s aspirations of godhood, so Adamant will fall._

_I would prefer to reunite with you at Skyhold instead of in this desolate place, but I suppose I will take what I can get._

_Shane_

* * *

 

Cullen laid the missives down on his desk and leaned back in his chair. He had read them at least a dozen times already, but he still sank with the weight of them and the conflict they foretold. He ran his finger over Shane’s signature and wondered if she was as nervous as he was. The assault on Adamant would be the first major military movement he would instigate as commander.

He stood and walked out of his office and onto the battlements. In the bailey below, his men were busy preparing to deploy.  The Inquisition’s troubles had certainly escalated since Shane had pulled Hawke’s Warden friend, Stroud, out of a cave in Crestwood. He had given the Inquisition an idea of where all the Wardens had disappeared to and delivered the dour news that the Wardens were a dying breed. Even the most pessimistic of Cullen’s predictions hadn’t prepared him for that. And now the Wardens were allied with the Venatori. They used to be heroes, and despite their recent transgressions, Cullen did not relish the duty of leading a campaign against them. He put his misgivings aside and headed downstairs to help prepare.

* * *

 

The door squeaked in protest and snagged on the rough flagstones of the floor as Cullen shouldered his way into Griffin Wing Keep’s newly appointed “war room”. There was a slat of wood lodged under one leg of the table to keep it from wobbling, and several sacks of flour were piled in a corner. Every inch of the keep suffered from equal parts wear and neglect. The Venatori seemed not to have cared much for the place. Upon his arrival the previous day, eager for a moment hard-gotten privacy, Shane had dragged him into a musty broom cupboard that turned out to be full of bats.

It was a relief to hold her again, though the current circumstances were anything but relaxing. The way she had melted into his arms and pressed her face into his chest told him that she was feeling similarly put upon. They had both ignored the pressures surrounding them for just a moment. She had nuzzled his neck; he had run his hands firmly along her back; she had nipped at his lips; he had run his fingers ever so slightly beneath the hem of her shirt. And then…the bats.

Cullen sighed wearily and wedged himself into the cramped war room next to a barrel of salted meat.

Shane hadn’t arrived yet, but several of her companions and Cullen’s captains were already present.

“How have you been sleeping?” Stroud was asking Blackwall.

“Well enough,” Blackwall responded curtly.

“Is that so? I count myself fortunate to get a few hours per night since the Calling started.”

Blackwall grunted and continued to study the map on the table.

“Is that why I keep waking up alone?” Hawke asked Stroud with some concern, putting a hand on his arm.

Varric chuckled and shook his head. Cullen rolled his eyes. Stroud himself seemed nonplussed.

“Forgive me,” he said, taking Hawke’s hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips for a quick, presumably bristly kiss that was positively Orlesian.

Cullen’s men stood silently and stoically, looking like statues compared to the Inquisitor’s lively cohorts.

There was a muffled curse on the other side of the door as it got wedged against the flagstones again. The Inquisitor kicked it open and walked into the room trailing Rylen, who looked annoyed, and Dorian, who looked smarmy.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said.

“I suppose it’s technically still morning,” said Hawke. “Where have you been?”

“The Knight-Captain was showing us his big rod,” said Dorian, quirking an eyebrow at Rylen who made a good show of pretending the Tevinter mage didn’t exist.

“He means the battering ram,” intoned the Inquisitor dryly.

“Apologies, Inquisitor. Necromancers don’t take a course on siege weapons.”

“Yes, that is a very sound excuse for flirting with my captain during battle preparations.”

“Inquisitor, I do not _flirt_ ,” said Dorian. “I _seduce_.”

Shane rolled her eyes, and granted no further response.

“Commander,” she addressed Cullen firmly, putting an end to all other conversation, “How to we breach the fortress?”

Cullen was glad to get to work. As the pieces of the strategy had begun to come together over the last few days, Cullen had begun to feel less overwhelmed. A solid plan was the foundation for victory.

“I’m afraid we’ve no choice but to use the battering ram,” he said. “Based on what I’ve garnered from our scouts and Warden Stroud, we’re unlikely to find another way in.”

“Adamant was built solidly by dwarven masters into a deep chasm,” confirmed Stroud. “She is a proud Warden stronghold, and I regret the necessity of attacking her on both moral and practical grounds.”

“You both sound more leery than I would like,” said Shane suspiciously. “I didn’t take a course on siege weapons, either. What am I missing?”

Cullen and Rylen shared a glance.

“The men wielding the ram will be nearly defenseless,” explained Cullen.

“Enemies will easily drop projectiles from the battlements,” added Rylen. “Boulders, burning pitch, boiling oil, heavy sacks of debris, whatever they have on hand. In this environment, I would put my coin on back-breaking bags of sand. That’s in addition to the archers, of course.”

Rylen probably could have been a bit less descriptive.

“The losses will be high,” concluded Cullen quietly, “but we have no realistic alternative.”

The Inquisitor was silent for a long time. Both of her hands were pressed into the war table, and her lips formed a thin line.

“Then it’s a good thing the Inquisition’s army has so many mages,” she said, straightening up and crossing her arms.

“Inquisitor?” asked Cullen.

“Every mage will be fully employed with keeping barriers around themselves and the men on the battering ram until that gate is down.” She spoke in a curt manner that invited no questions.

It wasn’t a particularly novel idea, and it would spend their mages’ stamina quickly. However, she was right about the Inquisition having an unusually high percentage of mages in its army. After she had let the mages from Redcliff join as allies, a surprisingnumber had chosen to enlist. There were enough of them that even after those protecting the battering ram were fatigued, he would still have a respectable contingent to deploy elsewhere. It could work.

“As you say, Inquisitor.”

* * *

 

Cullen and the Inquisitor stood at the head of the vanguard, waiting in in sober anticipation for the battering ram to finish its work. The men pulled the ram back in its suspensory chains as far as it would go. On Rylen’s signal, they swung it forward, the momentum driving the spiked metal head into the iron-reinforced wood of Adamant’s front gate.

Cullen’s men were antagonizing the enemies on the battlements as best they could to draw focus from the ram. Trebuchets flung boulders onto the densely populated towers, and ladders broke the lines of archers. They were suffering heavy casualties on the ladders. _Would taking the time to gather materials in this sparse desert for building siege towers have been worth a delay? Or would that have given the Wardens and the Venatori too much time to plan their defense?_ Cullen could not allow himself to question his decisions now.

At least the battering ram was enduring. Rylen had been right about the enemies dropping sand, only it wasn’t in bags. It was flame-seared and scalding. The barriers kept it from spilling onto the men, but it still gathered around their legs, making their work difficult.

With one last swing, the gate exploded into splinters and twisted metal. The majority of the mages were already exhausted, but many lives had been saved and the gate had come down faster than Cullen had expected. A cry that was part cheer and part roar emanated from the army as it rushed forward.

They spilled around the spiked fist at the head of the ram and into an entry yard full of demons.

Cullen hung back to take quick inventory of the scene.

“Inquisitor,” he called out to Shane, “I need you to secure the battlements.” The ladders were still struggling, and he didn’t like the idea of squeezing the whole army in through the relatively narrow gate.

She just nodded, and headed resolutely toward the nearest tower, waving at her party to follow. Part of him wanted to join her, but he knew the best way to help her was to stay here, keeping the main force occupied.

Battles progressed more quickly than most civilians expected. Between the armor, the heavy weapons, and the exertion, men grew too tired to fight in very little time. Still, the sun sank below the horizon before the forces regrouped in the main courtyard.

Shane and her companions found him upon returning from the battlements.

“The mages fight like they’re already dead,” she said without preamble. “I don’t understand why. They seem almost like they’re possessed, but I can tell they aren’t. _That_ one, on the other hand,” she said, pointing up the stairs, “ _is_.”

“Warden Commander Clarel?” Cullen squinted, trying to see whatever Shane could ascertain so easily. “If that’s true, it’s no wonder the Wardens have allied with demons. But I still don’t understand what Corypheus has to do with this. Is it part of some convoluted plan to get revenge on the Wardens for imprisoning him?”

Shane rolled up her right sleeve.

“Let’s ask Clarel.”

Shane took off up the stairs at a sprint. Hawke, Stroud, Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall followed closely behind. This time Cullen couldn’t stop himself from joining them. As they mounted the stairs, a Fade rift crackled open in the middle of the courtyard behind them. Shane’s mark glowed in response, but she just shook her hand before closing it around her staff.

They found Clarel and Erimond at the top of the stairs. Erimond sneered smugly.

“Inquisitor,” he said, “You’re too la—“ Before he could finish his taunt, Shane blasted him with force magic, and he was smashed to the ground with a grunt, unable to lift himself against the invisible weight bearing down on him.

Shane barely spared him a glance.

She dropped her staff on ground and stuck her right arm straight out to her side. If the anchor on her left hand was formidable enough to give demons pause, Cullen imagined that whatever was currently building in her right hand would make them want to blink out of existence.

Her fingertips had turned black. No, not black. As the darkness crept up her fingers, across her hand, and over her arm, Cullen could see that her skin or maybe the air around it was somehow _darker_ than black. It sucked light in, the opposite of the glowing anchor. Her arm and all of her fingers started to shake. Tendrils of green light arched from the anchor across her whole body, crackling along her twitching arm and sizzling angrily where it came in contact with that light-drinking void.

Shane flinched as her arm jerked with intense spasms. Her whole body was taut with concentration as she advanced on Clarel.

Clarel looked upon Shane in pure terror. The possessed Warden Commander stumbled as she turned to run, but Shane just lifted her left arm and slammed Clarel into the ground with another surge of force magic.

Shane knelt down on one knee, and lowered her dark arm toward Clarel, who mutely shook her head. Shane slammed her hand down onto Clarel’s chest, and Clarel started to spasm much like Shane’s arm had, and her body was slowly engulfed in the darkness spreading down from Shane’s hand. Clarel uttered garbled screams and choked gasps.

Despite all the damage the Wardens had done, the losses they’d caused, and the necessities of battle, Cullen had a hard time watching this. He felt the need to intervene. He took a step forward, but Dorian put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder and shook his head.

One moment, Clarel’s body was thrashing against the ground, and the next, she lay still. Cullen thought she must be dead, until she bolted upright, gasping and clutching at her chest. She trembled slightly as she regained her breath.

“I was possessed,” she said hoarsely. She leaned heavily into Dorian who helped her to stand.

“We knew you couldn’t be doing these things freely, Warden Commander,” said Shane. The color had seeped back into her skin. She was rolling her sleeve back down and flexing her wrist.

“I was possessed!” Clarel repeated loudly, causing some of the Wardens and Inquisition soldiers in the courtyard to pause. Blackwall ran out amongst them and tried to spread the news and stop the fighting.

“The filthy demon that was living inside of me: It works for Corypheus,” she said with a grimace. “It made me convince the Wardens that we could end all Blights before the Calling takes us all.”

Cullen assumed she must have misspoken.

“End _all_ Blights?” he asked incredulously.

“I love a bit of hyperbole,” Varric interjected, “but I don’t see how that could be possible.”

“It isn’t,” Clarel said flatly. “The false plan was lunacy. The Wardens were told to raise a demon army and lead it into the Deep Roads to kill all remaining old gods before they have a chance to become archdemons and start Blights.”

“What?” Hawke shouted, “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” Clarel responded.

“There are enough darkspawn in the Deep Roads to kill every Warden in Orlais fifty times over,” Stroud added somberly.

“I know.”

“There’s no way to divine the location of every old god left,” said Varric. “And what if you missed one? Let’s not even get started on how deep some of them must be buried and that Wardens aren’t exactly miners…”

“I KNOW.”

“Wait a moment,” said Shane pinching the bridge of her nose, “I still don’t understand. Why would Corypheus send the Wardens on this fake mission?”

“It was my master’s ingenious plan to raise a glorious demon army led by Warden slaves,” said Erimond in a shakily imperious voice as he hobbled into a standing position. “The Wardens were bound to his will through the ritual they believed would bind the demons!”

Shane frowned at him.

“You’re still alive?”

Erimond limped over to them, leaning on his staff and wheezing.

“My master will punish you for delaying his victory again! Now that the remaining Wardens know the truth, I have no reason to hold back!”

Erimond pounded the ground with his staff, looking like a mad man.

A massive shadow passed over the courtyard, and Cullen looked up into the underbelly and expansive leathery wings of the same invidious dragon that had destroyed Haven.

Dorian grabbed Erimond by the front of his shirt and said, “You are a perfect example of everything wrong with Tevinter. Thedas is not yours to play with, and it will be better off without you.”

Dorian brought his free hand up to Erimond’s face. Tendrils of deep purple spirit magic swirled slowly around his fingers. Erimond laughed.

“Yes! Release me from my mortal form! Corypheus will reward me handsomely in the next life!”

“Well,” said Dorian, “you failed, so I kind of doubt it.” Dorian put his hand on Erimond’s forehead with a flash of purple light and smoke. Erimond’s eyes flew open wide, and he stumbled forward, unseeing, as Dorian shoved him down the stairs. His body exploded into a grisly cloud before it reached the bottom.

Meanwhile, the dragon breathed destruction down on the troops, sending them diving across the courtyard.

“Inquisitor, you need to draw that dragon away from the men,” said Cullen.

Clarel, stepped forward, her eyes steely and her jaw clenched. “Allow me, Commander.”

Clarel spun her staff through the air and thrust it forward, sending a bolt of lightening straight into the dragon’s chest. The dragon roared and stone cracked beneath its claws.

Clarel took off at a run.

“She can’t kill a dragon by herself,” said Shane. “Come on!”

Shane and her companions ran after the Warden Commander while Cullen stayed behind to maintain the arduous task of navigating the confusion and turmoil of the battle continuing to burn through the courtyard.

All of the Wardens who still retained their senses had begun fighting alongside the Inquisition, fulfilling the grim duty of laying their ensorcelled comrades to rest. They continued to fight for what seemed like hours, but Cullen knew it was only minutes.

Then he heard a thunderous crack, and whirled around to see one of the walkways high above the courtyard split and come apart. The dragon was caught by surprise and straining to take flight. It scrabbled on the crumbling edifice, rending the stone even worse.

He watched helplessly as his comrades tumbled among the wreckage and out into the open air. His muscles locked in strained stillness as he searched the falling bodies for the one he desperately hoped he wouldn’t find.

But there she was.

The green light streaming from her hand was unmistakable even at a distance. Shane did a somersault in the air, her arms and legs flailing, fighting for control.

Cullen couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He was only vaguely aware of the fighting that continued around him and numbly trusted that the other soldiers wouldn’t let him get run through where he stood.

His mind raced for something, anything he could do to prevent the disaster that would surely conclude before he would even have enough time to talk a step.

Then Shane flung her hand out in front of her, and a burst of green light tore through the night sky, writhing with a flare so bright Cullen had to shield his eyes.

Hawke, Stroud, Dorian, Varric, Blackwall, and his dear Shane disappeared into the green haze and did not come out on the other side.

They had fallen into the Fade.


	11. Fallibility

When Shane was six years old, two years before she inadvertently conjured the barrier that protected her pet frog, Mortimer, from getting eaten by a dog, revealing to herself and all the world that she was a mage, she had jumped off a roof.

It wasn't until she was sailing through the air that the pile of leaves waiting in the yard below looked inadequately plush. An ingenious and infallible adventurer of her caliber should have known to use more leaves when leaping off a building.

That same trepidation gripped Shane as she slid down Adamant Fortress's crumbling walkway. When the stone cracked apart beneath her she dropped into open air several stories above the battle raging in the courtyard. The gardener's potting shed had been much closer to the ground. And the leaves, as inadequate as they had been, were far preferable to the craggy rubble awaiting her now.

Her younger self had been lucky to break her arm. Otherwise, her mother would have been more furious than worried, and Shane would have never seen a dessert again. The fate she was currently facing was much worse.

_No._ She couldn't die here. Her friends couldn't die here. There had to be something. Barriers? No, that would do nothing to slow their decent; they would still break their necks.

_Maker, please._

She had a crazy thought. The Maker _had_ given her something.

She flung her left arm out in front of herself, frantically thrashing the Anchor around in an attempt to do the opposite of closing a Fade rift.

For a moment, she felt as if the Anchor was expanding in her hand and becoming something almost solid that she could wrap her fingers around. Then, that ball of almost-solid energy leapt from her grasp and exploded into a jagged swath of churning green light.

She threw both arms forward and closed her eyes as if bracing for a collision with the rift. Instead, she slipped easily through the undulating mass, a warm buzz tickling her skin.

When she opened her eyes and still saw the ground rushing toward her, Shane was crushed with disappointment. That was until her dissent slowed and abruptly reversed, sending her flying upward and causing her to vomit without warning.

She was dragged up through the air past the rift she had opened until her back made contact with some sort of ceiling that should not have been there. Then the whole world spun, leaving her lying on her back on the _ground_. She lay very still, wary of movement, attempting to make sense of what had just happened.

Then her vomit splashed down onto her face.

She rolled over with a groan and lurched up onto her hands and knees. She lifted her head to see a landscape that looked…sick, all green and brown and swirling with miasma. Her whole body was lightly thrumming, acting as some sort of focus for the raw energy all around her. Shane had an intimate knowledge of the Fade and its inhabitants, but she had never seen or experienced anything quite like this. Had she?

The fragile tendrils of a forgotten memory teased along the edge of her mind. She pinched her eyes shut and tried to bring them into focus, but she was dragged back to the present by the sounds of coughing and grumbling nearby.

With a gasp that was more like a gurgle, she rose to her knees and frantically looked from side to side for her friends. Dorian, Blackwall, and Hawke were all nearby and suffering similar duress. Varric lay in a heap, facedown, one arm draped over Bianca, unmoving.

"Varric?" she croaked, her throat raw with bile.

Shane crawled toward him as fast as her lingering vertigo would allow and put a hand on his shoulder. She gave his shoulder a gentle shake that developed into a desperate fit, as she dug her fingers into the fabric of his coat and shook him with both arms.

"Varric!" she repeated, her voice reaching a higher pitch.

He didn't move but let out a low groan.

Shane fell back onto her rear end and absently patted the grumbling dwarf as she took deep breaths to settle her hammering heart.

"What is this place?" asked Stroud, the only person who had managed to stand.

"The Fade," Shane replied, "but not the Fade of dreams. This is the real thing."

"Is anyone else's skin buzzing?" Dorian asked. He had yet to even attempt getting up and was lying on his back with his arms and legs spread wide.

Hawke grunted the affirmative, wobbling as she tried to stand. Stroud reached out to help her up but recoiled when a small fork of lightening hit his outstretched hand. Hawke looked at him with wide eyes.

"Was that me?" she asked.

"It seems we'll have to be careful with our magic here," said Shane. They all eventually found their feet and were mostly intact. Dorian had lost his staff, though he assured everyone it was very unlike him to let hard wood slip from his grasp. All three mages were lightheaded from the amount of power surging through them but otherwise in good health. Varric had a blood dripping from his nose and seemed a bit delirious from being in the Fade for the first time. Stroud and Blackwall were the only ones who seemed largely unaffected.

"How do we get out of here?" asked Blackwall with calm gruffness as if he just needed to be pointed to the stairs.

Varric looked up at the swirling rift they had all fallen through. "Can't you guys just sort of…magic us back through?" He waggled his fingers at the rift.

"Varric," said Shane, "if we could _fly_ , we wouldn't be in this mess."

The rift was a good fifty feet in the air, and there was no feasible means to reach it. Shane reached out with her marked hand and yanked it back, closing the rift with a pop.

"Maybe I can just open another one," she mused. She recreated the motions she had used to open the rift they had fallen through. A rift jerked into existence at ground level. As the maw of the portal opened, Shane got a brief glimpse of fish swimming lethargically past her vantage point. Then the window seemed to bulge outward and burst. Water rushed out, toppling Shane backward and dragging her over rough stone before the water pressure thinned out enough for her to regain her footing. She closed the rift as fast as she could.

Most of the party had managed to avoid getting swept up in the current, but Blackwall was sitting on the ground, dripping wet, scowling like a scraggly old tomcat. Varric was sputtering and spitting salt water.

"First the Fade and now the ocean," he said. "Two places dwarves are not meant to see."

"Since when has being a dwarf kept you out of trouble?" asked Hawke, helping Varric up from the puddle he was sitting in. "Think of what a great story this will make!"

Shane shook water from her soaked limbs. Her battlemage armor was uncomfortably heavy now that the cloth layers were wet, but at least she didn't smell like vomit anymore.

"Let's try that again," she said, lining up to open another rift. This time, all of her friends stood at a safe distance.

With a crackle that made her hair stand up, another rift popped into existence. This one overlooked a mountain range that could have been anywhere. Sick dread was building in her stomach, and she wondered if closing the rift they had come through was a mistake.

"In this place, distance and space are not measured in any manner you are familiar with."

Shane spun around to face the direction from which the voice had come, and what she saw left her reeling. _No…it can't be_.

"Divine Justinia!" Stroud gasped. He took a few reverent steps toward the being that had silently appeared next to them. "But how did you survive?" the Warden asked.

It smiled warmly, but Shane's chest constricted. The Divine hadn't survived. Of course she hadn't. Shane felt a familiar cottony, metallic tingle spread out from the back of her throat and down her tongue. She had to squint at the apparition in front of them, as its white robes were too bright and the effect was intensified by a golden glow around the edges. Shane's teeth vibrated, and she felt nausea returning.

"Stay back, Stroud," she warned. "That's not the Divine."

Stroud's brow creased, but he didn't move any closer.

Dorian stepped up behind Shane, his body tense, and quietly asked, "What is she?"

Shane opened her mouth to answer, but had to stop to consider. She didn't feel quite as put off as she usually did around demons. This felt more like…more like Cole.

"It's not human," was the assessment Shane settled for. "That's enough reason not to trust it."

Shane was vaguely aware of Varric saying "Ouch" in mock hurt, but she didn't take her eyes off of the glowing being in front of her.

"You do not trust me," it said. "I understand. But I am here to help, as I have helped you before. I know you do not remember. Your memories are here, being held prisoner by Corypheus's demon general, the Nightmare, who ripped them from you as you escaped his clutches last time you were here."

Shane took a moment to digest this claim. Had she really been here before? Did she have any reason to trust a word this thing spoke?

"Convoluted rubbish," spat Hawke. She crossed her arms and stuck out her hip. "If she was actually in here with this 'Nightmare', why wouldn't it have just killed her?"

Shane looked at her glowing palm and clenched her fist around it.

"Because Corypheus wanted this," she said with a sneer. "Now that he knows he can't have it, I doubt the Nightmare will be as concerned about my wellbeing if we meet again."

"Unfortunately," said the apparition, "finding the Nightmare is exactly what you must do. You could open rifts until you perish from exhaustion and never find a path to your destination. Your best chance is to go through the rift that has been opened for the Nightmare."

"Oh really?" asked Shane skeptically. "My only chance is to walk right into a monster's lair, is it? How convenient...for you."

The apparition looked almost hurt.

Shane sighed and threw up her hands. "Alright, lead us to this rift or trap or whatever it is. The only other option appears to be standing here until I accidentally drown us or we all go mad."

Thus the party embarked on a tour of the Fade. Nothing about the place was trustworthy. Shane had to dissuade her companions from picking up trinkets and "healing potions" more than once. She couldn't even trust her own magic here. The huge amount of raw energy coursing under her skin had proven to be erratic. Hawke kept shooting out errant lightning bolts, and Shane had become prone to unleashing haphazard bursts of force magic with no provocation. After she almost knocked Blackwall clean off of a cliff overhanging a bubbling pool of green slime, the mages gave everyone a wide berth.

As they waded through ankle-deep fog so thick it was practically a liquid, the apparition inundated the party with a wealth of dubious information. It claimed that the Nightmare was not only capable of stealing memories, but also fed on fear and was responsible for all the Wardens in Thedas suddenly hearing the Calling at the same time. When asked how all of this information had been gathered, the apparition glanced over its shoulder and stated, "I have been planning for your return for a long time". _Not disconcerting at all_. Shane grew increasingly skeptical of the apparition's intentions as it led their group through pack after pack of demons.

Varric grunted as he tugged an arrow out of his latest target with a wet crunch.

"Of all the delightful flavors of demon on tap in the Fade, we just had to walk into a den of the ones shaped like _spiders_."

Shane paused from inspecting a fresh gash on her arm to frown at Varric.

"Spiders?" she asked.

Varric raised an eyebrow and swept his arm at the piles of gore surrounding them.

"The dozen deep spiders we just handily dismantled? Don't tell me you've already forgotten. You're still standing in one."

Shane looked down at gunk under her boots. It didn't look like pulverized spider meat to her.

"I see bloody skeletons with loose patches of peeling skin hanging from their bones," offered Hawke, wrinkling her freckled nose.

"To me the demons appear as snakes," said Stroud.

"Undead children," added Blackwall darkly.

"Trolls!" said Dorian. "This is a fun game, isn't it?"

"The Nightmare fights you with your own fears," explained the apparition, floating serenely amidst the carnage.

"Well," said Dorian, "that explains the plaidweave loincloths. How about you, my dear?"

Everyone's attention turned to Shane. Her internal hatred simmered, and she squinted as more demons scuttled over a nearby rise, hundreds of legs clicking against the stone.

"Centipedes," she said, her voice deep with disdain.

Unlike their smooth, docile cousin the millipede, centipedes were venomous, predatory, and ruthless. The next wave scurried down toward her, the sea of articulated legs rippling in a sickening ebb and flow. Their mandibles clicked with menace, and their antennae flailed about in the air. They had a blurry aura, as her eyes struggled to focus on their glamours and their true forms at once. There were just so many legs…

She assumed a steadying stance and waited until the horde was so close she could see the venom and spittle in their jagged mouths. Demons were more powerful in the Fade, but as Shane and her friends had discovered, so were mages. Shane spun her staff above her head, creating a field of force magic that drew the pack of centipede-shaped demons toward a single point. Once her targets were tangled in a roiling knot of spindly legs, Shane slammed her staff to the ground, smashing the whole pack with a relentless downward force. The combination of spells smashed the centipedes into the dirt and sent some spinning awkwardly, unable to control themselves. Some never got up, but plenty did.

Her friends rushed forward to join her. Even the apparition lazily fired little globs of light into the fray.

"More coming from behind!" shouted Dorian who had hung back from the rest of the group, as he was still unarmed.

"Dorian!" Shane shouted to grab his attention before tossing her staff to him.

"Much obliged!" he responded before hitting the creatures with a spell that left them writhing in agony.

Shane attempted to blow a few demons back with a wave of force, but without her staff to channel her Fade-enhanced powers, she knocked over more friends than enemies.

"Uh, Inquisitor?" said Varric, "Maybe _don't_ do that."

Shane reached for the sheath at the small of her back and pulled out her silver dagger. She knew she would be lucky to make it out of the Fade alive. To make it out without getting covered in demon guts was apparently _way_ too much to hope for.

From that point on, the fight was brutal and messy. On her left, she could see sweat pouring down Blackwall's face. On her right, Hawke's movements were getting sloppy, and she was starting to crackle with unfocused lightening energy.

"Keep it together, slackers," she shouted rousingly at her team.

Blackwall gave a single wry laugh.

"Your tenacity is admirable, Inquisitor. General Nightmare may have found his match."

"I don't know about that, but I do find fault in his logic," said Shane, hacking into another demonic arthropod with her silver dagger. "I hate centipedes. I _hate_ them. So," she turned to stab down between the eyes of another, "I have no problem whatsoever _destroying_ them."

This revelation seemed to bolster her team's spirit a bit. She had just finished mentally congratulating herself on her superior leadership techniques when the Nightmare's booming voice echoed around her.

"If you have no trouble fighting something you hate," the Nightmare rumbled, "you can fight something you love."

Suddenly, the centipedes were gone, replaced by the likenesses of Shane's friends and family. Based on the looks of horror and confusion on her companions' faces, they were seeing the same. They started backing away from the enemy, clumping together and allowing themselves to be surrounded.

A demon that looked like Dorian came at her, and she felt bile rising again. But she could tell this was a demon. The eyes weren't right. Even Dorian never looked quite that wicked. She gritted her teeth and snarled, dashing forward.

Demon-Dorian stumbled backward, clutching at her silver dagger protruding from its ribs, its eyes opened wide in surprise. Shane was awash in horrible uncertainty as it looked up at her with hurt in its eyes and fell to the ground. She felt an almost undeniable urge to rush forward and triage the wound she had inflicted. Her hands were shaking, and she looked down to see them covered in blood. Only…the blood _burned_ her skin, and her self-doubt blossomed into rage.

She ripped her dagger from the demon's side and spun back toward her companions. They were taking furtive, harmless swipes at the disguised demons surrounding them. Shane leapt to their defense. She grabbed a likeness of Sera by the collar and pulled her off of the real Dorian. She ran her dagger along its throat and tossed it to the ground. There were tears welling in Hawke's eyes as she used the butt of her staff to limply hold off a pretty brunette girl Shane didn't recognize. Shane rammed into the demon with her shoulder and buried her dagger deep in its gut. Hawke screamed and turned on Shane with fire blazing in her emerald eyes. Shane had to dive out of the way as Hawke sent a fireball sizzling toward her. Stroud charged to Hawke's aid, nearly bashing Shane with his shield.

"I am not a bloody demon!" she shouted.

The battle stumbled along in a tangle of confusion with demons and party members both shouting out assurances of their legitimacy. Shane jumped into and out of the combat, mostly making sure her friends were keeping their weapons focused on the actual enemies instead of each other. She barely prevented Blackwall from lopping Varric's head off, but finally the scuffle seemed to be drawing to a favorable conclusion with few demons remaining.

"Shane!"

Shane's blood froze in her veins. She slowly turned to see Cullen walking casually toward her. He chuckled.

"I came to help you," he said, continuing to walk toward her. "The battle at Adamant is over." His smile looked _so real_. "Come here, sweetheart." His arms were open.

There was a rush of air and a hollow thunk. The color bled from Cullen's face as he stared at the crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest.

"No!" Shane yelled, rushing forward and falling to the ground with him. Her hands hovered around him frantically, her battle-healing instinct seeping away in the panic of seeing someone she cared about so dearly bleeding out before her eyes. He smiled up at her with long, pointed teeth. Every hair on her body stood up as she realized what she had done. Shane scrambled backward, away from the thing wearing Cullen's face, but it rolled onto its hands and knees, grabbed her by the thighs, and dragged her toward it. She had no idea what had happened to the dagger she had been fighting with previously—she must have dropped it when she rushed headlong into this demon's trap—and she couldn't waste time scrabbling for a blade that was Maker-knows-where. She wrestled one leg free of the monster's grasp and reached into her boot. As she kicked her heel into the demon's gut, she unsheathed her emergency dagger. The monster fell back from the blow, and she followed it, landing on top of it and shaking with a dry sob as she sunk her dagger into its neck.

"He doesn't call me sweetheart," she rasped.

She was breathing heavily when she looked up at her friends. They had finished dispatching the other demons and were offering her uncomfortable looks of sympathy.

She stood, not looking down as she tugged her dagger free.

"Let's get out of here."

"We are nearly there," said the apparition, bobbing its head to beckon everyone onward.

With tempered resolve they marched toward the Nightmare's lair. It was a labyrinthine library that stretched out before them and curved upward with the nonsensical skyline. In the distance, the green electricity of a fade rift could be seen amidst the maze of shelves. After several more hours of trudging toward it and being dragged through more groups of demons and just as Shane was debating whether her stolen memories were truly critical to regain, the apparition directed her to a particular tome on one of the many vast shelves.

The script on the binding was in no language Shane could read, and it looked far too old and beaten to contain her recently lost memories, not that she knew how a magic book full of memories should look. When she pulled it off of the shelf, it was so light it might have been floating. It fell open in her hands and Shane felt her eyes roll back into her head.

Cool air on her face. The Temple of Sacred Ashes. Yelling. She runs, kicks a door open. The Divine restrained by ensorcelled Grey Wardens. Corypheus holding an orb. A skirmish. The orb rolling across the floor. She dives. Grabs it. Green flame sears her hand. Falling into the Fade. Scrambling back the way she came. The Divine's apparition urging her forward.

Shane jerked awake to the sound of gasping then choked as she realized the sound was coming from her own throat. She sucked in the dank, humid air of the Fade.

"Corypheus sacrificed the Divine," she said heavily.

Shane must have fallen to the ground while her memories surged back into her head. Her friends were huddled tightly around her, but she still felt cold. They gaped silently at her declaration.

"His Wardens held her down, and he stole her life…to make _this_." Shane lifted her glowing hand and curled it into a fist. Fat green sparks popped out as she dug her nails into her palm.

For the first time since waking up in the Inquisition's dungeon, Shane despaired. They were lost in the Fade. She had been forced to murder likenesses of her friends, of Cullen. And now she knew what part she had played in the destruction of the Conclave: the part of the bumbling idiot who just happened to be on her way to the storeroom for more candles when she heard a scream.

"It was all just an accident. Not the Maker's will."

The Anchor now felt less like a blessing and more like something dirty. She continued to scrap her nails along it, making it fizzle and send shooting pain up her arm.

Dorian knelt down and took her protesting hand in both of his. He flinched when a fork of green energy jumped onto his skin, but he did not let go. Under the comforting pressure of her friend's touch, Shane regained a small fraction of calm.

"I'm here because I trust in you, not the Maker," said Dorian. "This new information changes nothing. Corypheus's involvement in the Divine's death is no great epiphany. We already know he's a colossal shit. And because of you, said colossal shit doesn't have the Anchor"

"It doesn't even matter that I stole the Anchor from him," Shane persisted. "There are rifts all over Thedas now. It's only a matter of time before he finds the Black City and gets what he wants."

The apparition floated down to kneel across from Dorian on Shane's other side and said, "But he has not found it yet." It laid one of its glowing hands on Shane's knee. The contact felt warm like direct sunlight. "Do you presume to know the Maker's will? Perhaps this is all part of his plan."

Shane rankled at the apparition's pontification. "You're not Divine Justinia. I watched her die. I can feel the _wrongness_ in you that lets me know you were never human."

The apparition withdrew its hand and cast its gaze to the side.

"But" continued Shane, "you saved me."

The apparition looked at Shane with those golden non-eyes.

Then the ground began to shake.

"You have invaded my home." The Nightmare's voice rumbled all around them. "You have stolen my property." A nearby bookshelf exploded in a flurry of shredded paper and wood. "And you have murdered my men." The Nightmare climbed through the destroyed bookshelf and rose to its full height. It gnashed razor sharp mandibles and clawed at the air with its hundreds of legs, each the size of a man. "It is time for you to be dealt with."

The Nightmare screamed toward Shane impossibly fast. The apparition pushed its hands out in front of itself, and a wave of its golden magic roughly shoved Shane and Dorian out of the monster's path just in time. The apparition, however, had put itself directly in harm's way. To Shane, it looked as if the massive centipede's pincers grabbed it around the waist…and snapped it in two. The apparition burst into a shower of golden light, disorienting the Nightmare just long enough for Stroud to dash in front of it.

The Nightmare coiled and struck again, slamming into Stroud's shield. Stroud toppled backward over Shane and Dorian, and those hundreds of insectoid legs lanced the ground all around them as the Nightmare continued to push against Stroud's shield, dragging him across the ground.

Blackwall came at the beast from the side, swinging his sword into its body just behind the neck. Shane wondered if he saw the same beast she did, and shuddered to think how this enormous monster could be translated into Blackwall's fear of undead children. The man certainly looked more battle-worn than usual.

With the Nightmare focusing on the warriors, Shane and Dorian were able to crawl out from under it and run to position of relative safety. The three mages and Varric pelted their enemy with distanced attacks, Shane and Dorian tossing her staff back and forth between the two of them.

Now that the Nightmare had cleared a path through the bookshelves, Shane could see the rift. It was at ground level and not far off, but the Nightmare would never let them reach it. Worse, nothing seemed to damage the thing. The warriors slashed at it with their swords and drew no blood. Varric's arrows bounced off of it. The mages' spells seemed to be doing nothing at all.

"Get out of here!" shouted Blackwall over his shoulder. "Get to the rift. I'll hold it off."

Shane couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Blackwall, I am not leaving you behind!"

"This is my chance for atonement," he said, a fire in his eyes, "and I am grateful for it." He lunged forward, causing his sword to scrape along the Nightmare's hide.

"I too will stay to atone for the damage the Wardens have done," said Stroud.

Blackwall looked like he was about to protest, but just gave Stroud a short nod instead.

"If anyone needs to atone it's me!" shouted Hawke, furiously flinging fireballs at the monster's face. "I let Corypheus out of the Warden's prison. None of this would be happening if not for me!"

"You're the Champion of Kirkwall," said Stroud. "Thedas still needs you."

"And _I_ need _you_!" Hawke stopped fighting and screwed up her face in a furious and sorrowful grimace.

Blackwall needed to take the brunt of the Nightmare's onslaught as Stroud turned to Hawke and pulled her into a deep and lasting kiss.

Dorian groaned and threw a barrier up around them just as the Nightmare spit some sort of sizzling phlegm in their direction.

Stroud pulled away from the kiss and punctuated it with one word: "Run."

As little as she wanted to admit it, Shane could tell there was no way all of them would make it out of this.

Varric grabbed Hawke's hand, and jerked her toward the rift "Come on!"

Shane, Varric, Hawke, and Dorian turned away from their noble friends and took Stroud's advice: they ran. Once they got moving, they leaned into a pell-mell sprint toward the writhing green portal. They hurdled over wrecked bookshelves and crunched pages of faded memories under their feet.

As Shane jumped into the rift, she looked over her shoulder at the brothers-in-arms shouting encouragement at one another as they held Corypheus's general at bay, keeping it in the Fade where it belonged.

Shane did a somersault as she hit the ground in Adamant's courtyard. After verifying that the other three had all made it out but before she could think too hard about it, she stood, reached up with her left hand, and yanked the rift shut.

The Inquisition soldiers in the courtyard erupted into cheers, but Shane and her friends were quiet. They had lost two friends…or…maybe three? The apparition had helped her out of the Fade twice now.

Shane sat back down on the flagstones next to the others.

"But why?" Shane asked no one in particular. "Why did she help me? Why did she help _us_?"

From where he knelt with his hand on Hawke's shoulder, Varric said, "Maybe she was just a good person…spirit…thing. Those do exist, you know. We have a good person-spirit-thing waiting for us back in Skyhold."

Shane sighed. She wasn't as much of an expert on the inhabitants of the Fade as she had thought. She wondered how many other things she had gotten wrong and prayed that Stroud and Blackwall had not sacrificed themselves for someone who was completely clueless.


End file.
